


Four Walls // Clexa AU

by perpetual_gayness



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa, F/F, Fluff, bcos why not, but it gets really angsty at the end, eventual angst, i'm literal trash, it's mostly cheesy fluff, lexa is on the ark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-10-13 08:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10509990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetual_gayness/pseuds/perpetual_gayness
Summary: There are very few things one can do within the confines of the same four walls... turns out falling in love is one of them.





	1. not-so-solitary confinement

**Author's Note:**

> Bonjour, 
> 
> This was originally supposed to be a one-shot based on a tiny little headcanon of mine and now it's a big angsty mess instead. Basically, Clarke and Lexa are gay little beans whom I adore but I can't seem to write a fic without one or other of them being miserable about something or other. But the sadness doesn't come until later so I hope you enjoy this shitty little fic of mine! 
> 
> That is all,  
> Kaitlyn

Clarke stumbled slightly as they thrust her through the door; once she had regained her balance she turned to face the closing door with wide eyes. The door slid into the groove in the wall with a soft thud and her chest deflated as she drew in a sighing breath. Tears stung at the back of her cerulean eyes; she was alone so she didn't bother blinking them back. Curling her hands into fists at her sides, Clarke glared at the door as if it had been the one to condemn her to live out the rest of her days in a cramped, sterile cell.

Her mind mulled over the real reason behind her imprisonment. The secret she now harboured. The secret that had caused her father's death. The tears – which Clarke had managed to choke back – sprang back from behind her eyes and distorted her vision; the white walls before her began to sway as the tears swam in front of her eyes. A single tear trailed down her cheek as she tried, and failed, to banish the image of the last time she had seen her father from her mind.

'They need a dictionary.'

The sudden voice, which snapped Clarke out of her daze, came from behind her. Spinning on her heel, Clarke swiftly rubbed the single tear away with a fist, leaving a damp smear across her flushed cheek. The voice belonged to the brunette in the far corner of the room, sat on the floor and slumped against the wall, despite the fact that there was an angular – and slightly uncomfortable looking – bed just beside her. She had her knees pulled up to her chest and one slender, notably muscular arm slung across her knee. Her other arm was bent at a comfortable angle, her elbow resting on the floor, cradling a book in her hand as her eyes skimmed the delicately printed words on the page.

'Pardon?' Clarke's tongue itched to blurt out the word 'what' but she didn't want to seem rude to her new cellmate – with whom it appeared she would be spending the last months of her life.

The girl gave a soft sigh, closing her book but keeping it clutched in her hand. 'Solitary, adjective. To live alone or not be social or gregarious,' she recited eloquently; her unmoving stare resting upon Clarke's face, observing her reaction. 'This is no longer solitary confinement because there are two of us... they need a dictionary.' After finishing, she wasted no time in opening her book and flipping through the pages until she reached the one with its top edge folded over – marking her place. The girl had opened her book again in such a hurry that Clarke hadn't had time to catch the title before the front cover was folded neatly beneath the rest of the book.

Clarke could hear the minutes tick by as the whirring watch on her wrist indicated the passing of each individual second. The weight on her wrist still felt unusual; she wasn't used to wearing the watch yet. Clarke had never really worn a watch in her life; she had just never seen the need to. There were almost too many ways of telling the time on the Ark, with a clock of some sort around almost every corner. But that particular watch – with its worn leather strap and insistent, characteristic ticking – had belonged to her father and, in Clarke's grief-addled mind, to part with his watch would be to abandon his memory. He hadn't been dead long and that was why she was yet to grow accustomed to the weight on her right wrist.

Shuffling uncomfortably, Clarke's eyes drifted about the room awkwardly. Her cellmate – who hadn't properly introduced herself yet – however, seemed perfectly at ease to quietly read her book and ignore Clarke's bewildered gaze. For what felt like hours, one glance down at her watch informed her that it was actually just over five minutes, Clarke stood there, her head tilted to one side and her jaw slightly agape. Unfortunately, she had waited too long for any conversation she might attempt to start to sound natural. So instead she just stood there, listening to the minutes' tick by.

It must have been at least half an hour later, when pins and needles had begun to prickle at Clarke's calves and her shoulders sagged, when the brunette finally placed her book down and looked up at Clarke. She cocked her head to the left and gazed up at the blonde, her green eyes gleaming with intelligent curiosity. 'You're the Griffin girl,' she concluded eventually.

It unsettled Clarke that this stranger knew who she was. Sure, both of her parents were famous – by Ark standards anyway – and she knew that this then lent itself to more people recognising her than she would like but that didn't make it any less unnerving. 'Uh, yeah. I'm Clarke,' she dipped her head into an uncertain nod as she forced to words to roll off her dry tongue.

'Lexa,' she introduced herself at last. Lexa didn't even bother to get up off the floor as she held her hand out for Clarke to shake.

Accepting Lexa's hand, Clarke gave her calloused hand a half-hearted shake before releasing her feeble grip. 'Nice to meet you,' Clarke said. But it was more of a formality than an earnest statement; it wasn't that she didn't like Lexa – she didn't know her well enough for that – but more that the white walls drained Clarke's emotions, just as they had been drained of colour, rendering her completely disinterested.

Lexa merely hummed in response.

Clarke's gaze shifted from Lexa's face, with those striking eyes and high cheekbones, to the book on the floor. It was upside down, which made it slightly more difficult to read, but with a tilt of her head, Clarke was able to make out each individual letter in turn. 'War and Peace,' she blurted out in surprise. Then, she hurried to add, 'It's a good read.'

Lexa narrowed her eyes and raised her shoulders slightly, suddenly on the offensive. 'Let me guess,' she scoffed, 'You read it when you were five?'

Furrowing her brow in confusion, Clarke shook her head. 'No, no I-' a lump formed in the base of her throat as memories of reading the book at her father's side sprung to mind. 'No, I started reading it with my dad last year.'

Lexa noticed the way the blonde stumbled over her words, the way her blue eyes swam with unshed tears, and pursed her lips, knowing it was the only way to stop herself from asking questions that Clarke probably wouldn't want to answer. Shrugging, she reached out with slender fingers and picked the book off the floor. Lexa flicked through the pages too quickly to be able to read it properly; she caught maybe a single fleeting word per page. 'Well, try not to spoil the ending for me. I'm only halfway through.'

Clarke glared at her feet, now that she was sharing her cell with someone else, she was determined not to cry. 'We never got to the end,' she mumbled.

Once again, Lexa had to busy herself with the words on the page or curiosity would get the better of her. 'Maybe you can read it when I'm finished,' she said, though there was defiantly no promise in her words; it was just another thing she said to fill the silence. When Clarke didn't respond, Lexa looked up at her and offered her a small smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. 'You can sit down,' she said softly; her voice sounded just as drained of emotion and tired as Clarke felt.

Instead of joining Lexa, slumped against the wall, hugging her legs to her chest, Clarke opted to lower herself onto the floor where she stood. Folding her legs beneath her, Clarke watched as Lexa thumbed through the pages of her book. Eventually – when she grew bored of watching her cellmate read, which didn't take long – she leant back slowly until her back made contact with the tiled floor. With the ceiling, which was the same blank white as the rest of the cell, providing a blank canvas, Clarke's mind began to place subtle brush strokes on the ceiling. And, though her sketch wasn't actually visible, Clarke found it coming together quite nicely.

The two of them stayed like that, Lexa reading her book and Clarke adding invisible marks to her invisible masterpiece.


	2. skip the small talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I literally just got back from a ten day holiday abroad and I thought I'd update now instead of having a double update tomorrow because I'll be updating this every Friday but I obviously missed last week. So this is chapter 2 and chapter 3 will be up tomorrow. Anyway, I forgot to mention last time that this will be a short story (I'm aiming for about 12-15 chapters). It'll also be pretty fast moving. So, yeah... this is not a slow burn... at all. 
> 
> Anywho, here's the second chapter of Four Walls!

Clarke woke the next morning with a groan, pushing herself off the hard pallet – which was a sorry excuse for a bed. She used the heel of her hand to rub the sleep from her eyes as they narrowed into a confused frown. Last thing she remembered she had been sprawled across the floor on her back, staring up at the ceiling and longing for someone to place a pencil in her hand so that she could put the image in her mind to paper. Clarke had no recollection of getting up from the floor and making her way over to the bed so she assumed she must have fallen asleep there. But that didn't explain how she came to be curled up on the white pallet jutting from the, equally white, wall.

Pushing herself into a sitting position, Clarke threw her legs over the side of the bed as her mouth stretched open to accommodate a yawn. Lexa didn't seem to have moved at all from her position in the corner. Her brown curls – which rolled over her rising and falling shoulders like coiled springs – provided a nice alternative to the stark white of everything else, even their clothes were colourless. Guilt boiled at the pit of Clarke's stomach when she saw the other girl asleep, curled up on the floor with her head held at an awkward angle. A small, unexpected smile tugged at the edges of Clarke's lips; even in her sleep, Lexa refused to part with her copy of _War and Peace_ and she was hugging the book close to her chest.

Clarke's gaze drifted from Lexa's sleeping form to the part of the floor that she remembered falling asleep on. Once again, her brows knitted together in a frown as she looked back and forth between the floor and the bed. For the second time, in the five minutes since she had woken, Clarke's thoughts wandered to how she had come to be on the bed.

'You're heavier than you look, you know.'

Snapping out of her daze, Clarke's eyes rose to meet Lexa's. 'What?'

A nod from Lexa, in the vague direction of the part of the floor Clarke had been scrutinising, didn't enlighten her anymore. When the confused look remained on Clarke's face, Lexa gave a soft sigh and hoped that a verbal explanation would help. 'You looked uncomfortable last night, so I picked you up and carried you to the bed.'

'Oh, thanks.' Clarke offered uncertainly.

Huffing out a curt laugh, Lexa shook her head. 'I won't be doing that again, by the way.' She allowed a small frown to settle on her face, more from worry that Clarke had now formed the opinion that she cared than anything else. 'You're heavier than you look,' she reiterated.

'I don't know if that's an insult or a compliment...'

Before Lexa had the opportunity to inform the blonde that she had actually just been stating a fact, rather than trying to flatter or offend, a burly hand pushed two trays through a large slit at the bottom of the door. One look up at Clarke and then at the trays of food on the floor caused a frown to appear on her face. 'Okay, they may have put me in solitary but they usually let me out for meals,' she glared at Clarke, an accusation in her green eyes. 'What did you do to get put in here?'

Sighing, Clarke looked hatefully down at the neatly sliced protein supplements that sat on the tray. 'I guess they just don't trust me to keep my mouth shut,' she answered before ducking down and picking up both trays. 'I'm sorry,' she said earnestly as she offered Lexa one of the trays.

Shrugging, Lexa accepted the tray and placed it in her lap. 'Don't be, I don't like any of the others anyway.'

'Why not?' Clarke asked as she sank back onto the bed.

Another shrug from Lexa, 'I don't know really. I guess I'm kind of suited to solitary confinement, being social isn't really my thing. But it is good to get out of this cell sometimes.' Just as Clarke opened her mouth to apologise again, Lexa cut her off. 'But you didn't answer my question, what did you get locked up for?'

That question caused Clarke's jaw to snap shut immediately.

Lexa was surprised to see the same expression on the blonde's face that she had seen whilst Clarke was talking about her dad. Shaking her head, she hurried to make up for her mistake. 'Never mind, you don't have to tell me. Just forget about it.'

The four words that Lexa added – almost as an afterthought – at the end made Clarke wince. If only she could forget about it. But no, the reason for her imprisonment wasn't something she was likely to forget... ever. Unable to force a response past the lump in her throat, Clarke opted to remain silent and busied herself with the unpalatable food on her tray.

'I'm sorry,' Lexa said eventually, after several minutes of awkward silence. 'I should have known you wouldn't want to talk about it.'

Clarke smiled at her, 'How could you know? We only met yesterday.'

'And now we have to spend the rest of our lives together...' Lexa muttered scornfully beneath her breath.

Clarke froze; those words used together usually meant a promise between lovers, not an ominous death sentence shared by two teenagers. Her heart stalled for a second as she considered Lexa's words. She knew that the coming of her eighteenth birthday would almost certainly mean her death, but she hadn't given it much thought. 'Well,' Clarke began, desperately grasping for a hold on anything close to normality. 'If we are going to be together for the rest of our lives it wouldn't hurt to get to know each other.'

Shaking her head, Lexa slid the tray off her lap and onto the floor. 'Not really, there's no point. Why should I tell you about myself if you're just going to die after I've told you? Do you really want to spend the last months of your life making small talk?' Lexa raised an eyebrow, prompting Clarke to answer her query.

'We could skip the small talk.'

'I don't see how. How are we supposed to have a conversation when all we know about each other is our names and that we're both going to die?'

Clarke smiled. She _really_ smiled. Despite the death sentence hanging over her head like a heavy storm cloud, she smiled. 'Well, we can just keep the small talk to a minimum.' She said as she slipped off the bed and joined Lexa on the floor.

Nodding, Lexa pulled her hand back into her lap from where she had been reaching for her book. She had decided that – just this once – she would take part in her own conversation instead of reading about someone else's. 'Okay then, where do we start?'

'I guess we start with the basics: favourite colour, likes, dislikes, oh and birthday.'

Lexa was surprised when Clarke finished without mentioning anything about why she was locked up. Normally, on the Ark, your crime defined you. Normally what you did to get locked away was all people cared about. But not Clarke. Both trays of food lay discarded on the floor, all but forgotten as the two girls spoke. 'Favourite colour?' Lexa asked, raising a brow at Clarke mockingly.

Clarke feigned offence as she responded but her poorly concealed smirk allowed Lexa to see through her transparent façade. 'Yeah,' she said, 'I said we should keep the small talk to a minimum but that is essential information.'

'Okay then,' there was a pause as Lexa tried to decide on her favourite colour. She had narrowed it down to blue and red when she looked up and met Clarke's gaze. The blonde's cerulean eyes instantly made up her mind. 'Blue,' she answered firmly, 'Like those old pictures of the sky on Earth. What's your favourite colour?'

When Clarke smiled Lexa could see how it still didn't quite reach her eyes, 'I don't pick favourites. All of the colours are beautiful. Right, next question: likes and dislikes?'

Lexa threw her hand towards the hefty book at her side in a casual gesture, 'I love reading, obviously.' That earned a tiny smile from Clarke. 'I'm a black belt in about three different types of martial arts... uh, and that's about it. There isn't really much to tell.' Suddenly, just as Clarke was about to speak, Lexa vehemently added, 'And I hate sexist men.'

Chuckling softly at Lexa's last statement, Clarke shrugged. 'Fair enough, who doesn't?' Lexa didn't seem to notice the mirth in Clarke's tone and simply responded with a tight nod, her eyes narrowed. 'Okay well, I love art and I hate Wells Jaha.' Lexa raised her gaze when she heard Clarke's tone harden; Clarke's eyes widened in shock as if she had surprised herself with that last bit.

'The Chancellor's son?'

'Uh, yeah. Anyway, last question: how long until your birthday?'

Pretending to ignore how swiftly Clarke had changed the topic, Lexa answered her question with a lump in her throat. 'Five months.'

Clarke's chest constricted when she heard those words. Five months was more than enough time to get attached to someone. It was incredibly selfish, but Clarke would much prefer if Lexa had said a month or two. That way it would hurt less when they killed her; from just one conversation Clarke could feel herself growing comfortable in Lexa's company and that was something she didn't want to be. She didn't want to grow fond of someone whom she was guaranteed to lose. 

Coercing her tongue, heavy with anxiety and fear, into submission, Clarke forced out the shortest answer possible.

'Seven months.'


	3. chalk and charcoal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised here is the third chapter of Four Walls, I hope you'll enjoy reading it!

After that first conversation – which Lexa had thought went pretty well, given her limited social skills – Clarke hadn't made another conscious effort to talk to Lexa. This left the brunette under the impression that she had done something wrong. And Lexa, being Lexa, decided that it would be easier for the both of them if she just kept her mouth shut and buried her nose in a book. So that's what she did.

In fact, it only took Lexa a week to plough through the rest of _War and Peace._ That in itself was quite a feat and she was pleased to see the look of surprise on the guard's face when he entered the cell to retrieve the book. She had, during the first month of her year-long sentence, managed to strike up a deal with a particularly agreeable guard and now he would go out of his way to make sure she always had a book in her hand. Lexa chose to believe that he did this out of the goodness of his own heart but in truth, his intentions were probably slightly more self-serving.

From the second Lexa had arrived in the cramped, little cell she had been restless. Eventually, when she could no longer bear to sit still, she had taken to practising martial arts techniques on the walls. Now, this had created quite the racket and driven all of the guards mad. One day – maybe a week after Lexa had first arrived – one guard, with a face like thunder, had opened the door and quite literally thrown a book at her. From then on the unspoken agreement was that if she didn't kick, punch or hit the walls – or any other part of her cell – then she would be given an infinite supply of reading material.

'Finished already? Jesus, Woods, it took me a year to get through that.' He said, sending a respectful nod in Lexa's direction as he picked the book up from where Lexa had left it on the floor.

Frowning, Lexa looked up at him. 'It's not like I have anything else to do.'

The guard gave a dry, mirthless laugh before turning his attention to Clarke – who lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with an outstretched arm. 'Do you want anything to read?'

It took Clarke a minute to realise that the question was directed at her; once she had she raised her head, a disinterested look on her face. 'No,' she responded curtly. She sat up as the guard turned to leave, 'But, can I have something to draw with?'

The guard stopped walking but didn't turn to face Clarke, 'Sure.' He threw the flippant word over his shoulder. He was facing the door so he couldn't see the way Clarke's face split into a wide smile. But Lexa could. Clarke's grin was so broad it was almost infectious; Lexa had to purse her lips to prevent the smile – which she could feel pulling the edges of her mouth upwards – shaping her lips. And for the first time since Clarke's arrival, almost a week ago, Lexa could see the smile gleaming in her eyes.

The guard returned soon after leaving, a slim book in one hand and a nondescript bag in the other. 'Woods, I got you _Pride and Prejudice,_ ' he announced as he handed Lexa the book.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust and glared at the book in her hands, 'Thanks?'

Nodding, he completely ignored the sarcasm dripping from her cynical tone. 'You're welcome,' he turned to Clarke and pushed the bag into her hands, 'This was all I could find.'

Clarke plunged her hand into the bag eagerly and began to rifle through its contents, 'Thanks.' Clarke's sincere thanks were the exact opposite of Lexa's disdainful, forced appreciation.

Lexa was just turning the first page, and beginning to read the second, when he left. The frown on the girl's face made him chuckle softly as he closed the door.

'Did you get anything good?' Lexa looked up from her book to ask Clarke when the door slid shut with a click.

Holding up a box of chalk triumphantly, Clarke smiled again. 'Chalk and charcoal,' a frown appeared on her face as she continued to rummage through the bag. 'But no paper...' she shrugged, 'I guess I'll just draw on the floor.' Clarke was sort of talking to herself now but Lexa listened intently nonetheless.

Lexa waited until Clarke looked up at her again before holding her hand out over the space beside her, a single eyebrow raised expectantly. Her silent, unspoken offer wasn't as well received as she would have hoped; she watched Clarke hesitate before slipping off the bed awkwardly with several jerking steps. When Clarke did sit next to her, she kept her distance and discreetly shuffled away from Lexa. Lexa didn't understand why the girl who had been so amicable and friendly before was now distancing herself and acting so coldly. But she and Clarke weren't friends, so she disregarded it and buried her nose in her book.

Clarke placed a few, brief marks on the floor – the beginnings of a beautiful landscape. She could picture it in her head as she transferred it onto the floor: the rolling hills, the gurgling river and the skeletal trees, bare since it was autumn. A small smile shaped her lips as the image flowed from her mind, down her arm and onto the floor. Earth had always been her favourite thing to draw. It was so much more colourful than the limited palate of the Ark.

When Lexa's eyes flitted from the words on her page over to Clarke, she found the blonde with furrowed brows and her tongue peeking out between her lips. In that moment she decided that watching Clarke concentrating intently was much more worthwhile than reading any words in any book that the world had to offer. 'What are you drawing?' She asked, finally looking from Clarke herself down at her drawing.

Her hand froze, hovering over the floor with a crumbling piece of charcoal clasped between her forefinger and thumb. Clarke glanced up at Lexa, 'Just a landscape.' Sitting up, she brushed her hair behind her ear and leant back against the wall.

'It's beautiful,' Lexa murmured. When she looked up at Clarke, a smile came to her lips. When Clarke tucked her hair behind her ear her fingers had brushed against her cheek and a powdery grey mix of chalk and charcoal now stained her skin. Pointing at Clarke's face, Lexa allowed some amusement to seep into her voice as she spoke. 'Uh, Clarke? You've got something on your face.'

The blonde's eyes widened slightly and her hand flew to her face, 'Really? Where?'

Lexa's smile broadened; her finger inched closer to Clarke's face as she tried to show her where the smudge was. Her attempt was futile and Clarke continued to rub away at the wrong part of her face. Eventually, Lexa shook her head with a small smile and decided to do it for Clarke. She pulled the hem of her sleeve over her fist and gently took Clarke's hand away from her face. 'Here, let me.'

Clarke could feel her cheeks going from a subtle, incredibly pale pink – almost the same colour as the rest of her face – to a burning red as Lexa gently rubbed the smear from her face. 'Did you get it?' She asked when Lexa pulled her hand away and set it in her lap.

The brunette responded with a nod; Clarke could have sworn that Lexa's cheeks were a shade darker than usual and she couldn't have been more surprised if Lexa had sprouted wings and flown away. Clarke had only known Lexa for the week that she had been in the cell, but in that time she had learned numerous things about her. One of which being that Lexa wasn't the type to blush or smile or just generally show any emotion that wasn't total disinterest.

Clarke mirrored Lexa's rigid posture and stared down her her hands, which lay limply folded over one another in her lap. 'Thanks,' Clarke mumbled before picking up her charcoal and pressing it against the floor.

Lexa watched her make purposeful marks on her image with a flurry of movement and several flicks of her wrist. 'Do you think it still looks like that?' She asked eventually when she saw several of the – previously detached – lines come together to make a hazy, yet accurate, image of a large fir tree. 'Earth, I mean.'

Without looking over her shoulder at Lexa, Clarke shrugged and sketched another tree. 'I don't know. But if it does I would much rather be down there than up here,' Clarke's eyes narrowed hatefully as she glared at the four walls which contained them. 'Even if the radiation killed me, I would much rather die down there, looking at something beautiful.'

A noncommittal shrug from Lexa made Clarke raise her brows in question. 'Well,' Lexa began, answering Clarke's silent query. 'When we get floated we're going to die among the stars, surely that's something beautiful.'

Clarke scoffed sadly, 'I promise you, there is nothing beautiful about being floated.'

'I lost someone too.'

'How do you know that I've lost someone?'

Lexa peered up at Clarke with those glossy, green eyes and suddenly she didn't have to explain for Clarke to understand – but she did anyway. 'The look in your eyes whenever you mention your dad, it's the same look I saw in the mirror for months after she died.'

Gulping back tears, Clarke nodded. When she leant forwards and began working on her drawing again, Lexa knew it was time to change the subject.


	4. not entirely platonic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back at it again with another chapter, people.   
> And there is a lot of blushing in this chapter, those two idiots just blush like schoolgirls the entire time. Also, the soothingly angsty sound of Troye Sivan really helps me write for some strange reason. I swear that's all I listen to now.   
> (I'll stop before I start rambling) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!

The next three weeks followed on from the first in the same fashion: Clarke would draw all day and Lexa would read all day. The one thing separating those three weeks from the first was that faintly murmured conversations would fill the silence which had filled the first week. Lexa would occasionally peer over her book – the newest of which was _Game of Thrones –_ to ask Clarke a question or to comment on her newest sketch. Just as Clarke would occasionally abandon her drawings – which had begun to creep up the wall as she used up space on the floor – to perch on the bed beside Lexa and read a paragraph or two over her shoulder.

Lexa peered over the top of her, particularly hefty, novel and glanced down at Clarke. 'What are you drawing?'

Looking up, Clarke offered Lexa a small smile and sat up a little straighter. 'I don't really know,' she shuffled backwards so that Lexa could see what she had been drawing, 'It's kind of just a line right now.'

The black mark, which Clarke had placed on the floor seconds earlier, stood out like a sore thumb against the stark white pallor of the floor. Lexa sent a small smirk, disguised as a smile, in the blonde's direction, 'It's a very well drawn line.'

Clarke's gentle laugh echoed off the walls and the silence that followed rang in Lexa's ears. After the brief conversation, the two of them were perfectly happy to just go back to their individual activities. In the five minutes that followed Lexa managed to work through six pages of _Game of Thrones_ and Clarke had added about ten more lines to accompany the first. However, the sketch was still just a shapeless tangle of lines when Clarke got to her feet and brushed the charcoal off her hands on her pants.

Glancing up, Lexa watched as Clarke walked over to her. When the blonde moved to sit next to her on the sorry excuse for a bed, she curled her lips into a small smile and shuffled across to give Clarke more space. Clarke returned Lexa's smile as she settled beside her. Wordlessly, the two sat next to each other, slotting together like a jigsaw when Lexa moved her arm behind her so that Clarke could get close enough to read over her shoulder. It should have been awkward. They had only known each other for a month. But both of them felt at ease, sat next to each other with their sides slotted together perfectly, Clarke's arm – bent at the elbow – wedged between them.

And then Clarke hesitantly rested her head on Lexa's shoulder to get a better view of the tiny words on the page. Lexa's breath caught in her throat and it took a gruff cough to dislodge it again. But even then, her shortness of breath – which she managed to hide from Clarke successfully – wasn't caused by discomfort. Lexa could feel Clarke's steady breaths tickling her neck and her sun-kissed hair cascading down her shoulder like liquid gold.

When Lexa felt Clarke pulling away slowly – maybe because she had noticed the hitch in Lexa's breathing? – she hurried to assure her that she didn't mind. Bending her slender neck, so that it curved comfortably around Clarke's scalp, Lexa rested her head upon Clarke's and gave a happy sigh. Her sigh was echoed by one from Clarke who shuffled impossibly closer to Lexa. They continued reading – though Lexa was more focused on Clarke than the content on the page – like that until one of Lexa's long, intricate braids fell into Clarke's face. Releasing a soft laugh, Clarke tried to swat it away with her hand.

'Lexa,' she chuckled as the braid swung back into her face, 'Your hair is in my face.' Clarke didn't wait for Lexa's response before she sat up. It was only when she looked over at Lexa that she realised that her gesture might not have seemed as platonic as she intended. Red colour rose to her cheeks as blood burned beneath her skin.

Lexa didn't pretend that the sudden blush in Clarke's had gone unnoticed; she tucked the braid in question behind her ear – which was tinted red with the shadow of a blush. 'Sorry,' she mumbled as the blush spread from the tips of her ears to her cheeks.

An awkward silence followed as the two blushing girls avoided eye contact by staring at their laps. Eventually, Clarke cleared her throat and stood up. 'Uh...' she searched for something to say, but found nothing, 'Yeah.' Nodding, she returned to her half-formed sketch on the floor and sank down beside it.

It was several minutes, after Clarke returned to her sketch, before Lexa's blush subsided and she was able to focus on her book again. Clarke's blush, however, faded from her cheeks almost the second she sat down but she couldn't help stealing a glance at Lexa every few seconds. She found that the red in Lexa's cheeks, which had faded to a pale pink now, complimented her green eyes – which were the colour Clarke imagined the forests were down on Earth – nicely. A small smile rose to Clarke's lips when Lexa cocked her head to the side and frowned; clearly, she had reached a particularly enthralling part of the book and was devoting all her attention to the neatly printed words on the yellowed page.

The smile lingered on her lips as she turned back to her sketch, which was still the shapeless tangle of lines that it had been ten minutes earlier. When the sketch finally began to take shape, Clarke didn't notice. Suddenly, she was reminded of the first day she met Lexa. And how she had sat there on her knees, shifting uncomfortably as Lexa leant against a wall, reading a book and completely ignoring her. But this time it was different. This time Clarke didn't grow weary of watching Lexa and she continued drawing out of habit instead of boredom. Her hands skimmed over the floor, the charcoal pursed between her forefinger and thumb, but she didn't put any thought into it – it just came naturally.

'How's the line coming along?' Lexa asked over her book; Clarke could pretty much hear the smirk in her voice. It was then that Clarke finally looked down at her drawing and then that Lexa finally looked up from her book.

When Clarke looked down it took everything within her to bite back the gasp; however, there was nothing she could do to prevent the slow, creeping blush that rose from her neckline into her cheeks. Sitting at her feet, staring up at her with eyes almost as enigmatic as the ones' they were imitating, was a drawing of Lexa. For the first time in her life, Clarke wished she couldn't draw quite so well. If she had maybe slipped up whilst drawing the lips – and added a sneering lilt that Lexa didn't have – or messed up with the eyes and made the person in the picture, who was so obviously Lexa, squint slightly, then it would be easier to explain when Lexa inevitably saw it.

'Oh, umm... it's–it's...' Clarke trailed off as she tried to make sense of it herself. She hadn't intended to draw Lexa, she hadn't even really been paying attention. It just kind of... happened.

Lexa didn't fail to notice the heat in the blonde's cheeks or the way she stuttered and stumbled over her words. With furrowed brows, Lexa set her book down beside her – the cracked spine bent easily as it rested on the bed with its two covers spread wide apart – and got to her feet. 'Clarke?' Lexa asked softly as she moved towards her, stretching a hand out in front of her to place on Clarke's shoulder when she could reach. 'Are you oka– is that me?' Lexa's eyes widened as she stared down at herself; Clarke had managed to capture a fantastic likeness and Lexa almost felt like she was staring into a mirror, except all the colour had been drained from her face.

Clarke's expression, when she peered up at Lexa, was sheepish and came accompanied by a reluctant nod. 'Yeah, I'm sorry... I'll just...' Clarke pulled her sleeve over her forearm and looked away from Lexa. She held her arm over the drawing and shifted closer, moving her arm closer and preparing to rub it away.

'No,' Lexa's fingers darted out and curled around Clarke's arm, keeping it clasped in her iron grip as she pulled it away. 'Don't,' she dropped to the floor beside Clarke, a fleeting smile on her lips. The drawing really was amazing; each mark had been placed like it had a purpose, not one was hazy or misplaced. 'It's beautiful,' the words came out along with the breath Lexa hadn't realised she was holding.

There was a soft chuckle from Clarke – half because she was amused and half because she needed to clear the last of the embarrassment from her throat before she could speak. 'Well, that was narcissistic.' It was hard to choke those words out when the words she really wanted to say were dancing on the tip of her tongue. _So are you._

'You know that's not what I mea–'

'Yeah, yeah,' Clarke cut her off and turned to face her with a genuine, lopsided grin on her face. When she saw Lexa's face – her eyes wide with indignation and her mouth hanging slightly agape, like she wanted to say something but could quite find the words – her grin faltered for a second. 'Hey,' she jostled Lexa's shoulder with her own, 'I know what you meant. Thank you.'

'You're welcome.'

When Clarke saw Lexa place her palms on the floor, ready to push herself up onto her feet, she quickly grasped her wrist, 'Really, thank you.' And then, in a moment when she didn't allow herself to overthink it, she boldly placed her lips to Lexa's cheek. It was only a very swift kiss but Clarke had still felt the heat rise to Lexa's cheeks. As Clarke leant back and let go of Lexa's wrist, she nervously ran her quivering tongue over her dry lips. Her hands lay in her lap, one clasped in the other, fingers knitted together, as her blue eyes skirted around Lexa's green ones' in a conscious effort to avoid her gaze. She knew that this time there was no way her gesture could be mistaken for something platonic.

However, Clarke was eventually forced to look up when Lexa remained silent. It seemed the only way she would get a response would be to see Lexa's expression. The upward curves at the very edges of Lexa's lips hinted at a smile but it was the golden glint in her eyes that untangled the knot in Clarke's stomach. 'No problem, it really is beautiful.' Lexa said, the curves at the edges of her lips growing into something that was unmistakably a smile.

It took Clarke a minute to gather her thoughts and realise that Lexa was referring to the drawing at their feet. 'Oh, yeah. Thanks.'

It was then that Lexa seemed to recall what she had been doing before Clarke leant over and planted the kiss on her cheek. 'You're welcome,' her words grew fainter as she rose to her feet, leaving Clarke sat on the floor.

Those were the last words spoken between them for some hours, not because Lexa was too embarrassed to carry out a worthwhile conversation or because Clarke regretted what she had done, but because they were perfectly content to just be in each other's company.


	5. disney logic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, before I start with this chapter... does anyone know how to add images to a story? because I am incompetent and the complete opposite of tech savvy so if someone could assist that would be great. it's just that I am also on wattpad and I have all of my stories saved in my drafts there and I make covers for all of them and i'd quite like to be able to show them here. but, like i mentioned, i am incredibly dense and have no clue what i'm doing.

Normally Clarke was the one to retrieve the food trays when they were slid through the hatch in the door, simply because she was closest. But that day it was Lexa who leapt to her feet eagerly and was ducked down, picking up the trays before Clarke even realised they were there. She carefully dropped both trays at Clarke's feet – Clarke had expected Lexa to just hand her one tray and take the other back to the bed and continue reading, but that wasn't what she did – and yanked the thin sheet off the bed. Her book, which had been lying on the sheet, tumbled to the floor with a dull thud and, much to Clarke's surprise, Lexa just left it there.

Clarke watched on in amusement as Lexa stumbled towards her, glaring at the floor and being incredibly careful to avoid stepping on one of Clarke's drawings. 'What's all this about?' She asked finally. She had been perfectly happy to just watch as Lexa rushed about their tiny cell but curiosity had finally gotten the better of her when Lexa lay the bed sheet over the last clear part of the floor.

Shrugging, Lexa lowered herself onto the floor and pulled a tray onto her lap. 'I felt like shaking things up a bit.'

'Okay? And you thought the best way to do this was with a... picnic?' Clarke raised an eyebrow and smiled as she sat next to Lexa on their makeshift picnic blanket.

Another shrug from Lexa displayed her complete and utter nonchalance, 'Hey, I'm going to die in four months... I figured that I may as well live a little.'

The flippant way that Lexa said it made Clarke's chest constrict. If Lexa didn't care about her own death why should she? It was stupid. She knew when she met Lexa that they were both marked for death, yet she still allowed herself to get close to her. And now the mere mention of Lexa's death clogged up her lungs and got caught in her throat. In truth, the thought of Lexa – a girl she had only known for a little over a month – dying made it difficult to breathe. 'Well,' Clarke glared at the tray in her hands as she spoke, unable to meet Lexa's eyes, 'I guess life is about more than just surviving.'

'Maybe it is.' It was then that Clarke chanced a glance up at Lexa. Still, at a loss for words, she simply waited until Lexa spoke again. 'Anyway,' Lexa picked a piece of food up on her fork, 'I don't have to think about that for another four months, so let's change the subject.' Her words came out in the guise of a sprightly, casual suggestion but Clarke could see something in Lexa's eyes and it certainly wasn't nonchalance.

'Sure,' she pretended she hadn't noticed that something in Lexa's eyes and hid it behind a relatively convincing smile.

'I think I'd like a bucket list.'

For all her talk of wanting to ignore anything remotely attached to her inevitable death in four months, Lexa sounded like she had given the idea of a bucket list a lot of thought. And she had chosen her words carefully, enunciating each one slowly – almost like she was still considering it even as she spoke.

'But I thought you said–'

Lexa held a finger up to silence Clarke as she spoke over her, 'No. Clarke, this is nothing to do with getting floated. I've always wanted a bucket list, even before I got arrested. Of course, it'll have to be shorter now.' It appeared that Lexa had finished speaking but then, chuckling sadly, she added, 'There are only so many things one can do within the confines of the same four walls.'

'Okay. Well, in that case, I'll have one too.'

Nodding, Lexa took another bite of food and began chewing around it as she spoke. 'I'd like to finish  _A Game of Thrones._ Not just the one book, the entire series.'

Clarke responded with a slow, pensive nod – as if to show that she considered it a good choice. 'You know, I always meant to read it. I guess I just never got around to it.' There it was: another seemingly casual statement accompanied by body language that was anything but casual. Last time it had been Lexa's eyes to give her away; this time it was the tight shrug of the shoulders that gave Clarke away. The way she had trailed off made it sound like there was more to be said, like she would probably make time to read it in the future. Both Clarke and Lexa knew that time was slipping through their fingers and soon there wouldn't be enough of it for Clarke to spare any reading  _Game of Thrones._

The silence was only very short but it hung in the air like a thick, stifling fog for a few seconds before Lexa spoke again. 'What are you putting on your list?'

'I don't know...' there was a weighty pause as Clarke considered it. It must have been over a minute later when she finally responded, 'I don't know.' A hysterical laugh slipped from her quivering lips, 'I don't know, Lexa. There is literally nothing to do but wait until they take me away to die. I don't want to die.'

There were tears glossing over Clarke's eyes now, the liquid to accompany the blue ocean that was already there. It was a feeling Lexa knew all too well: not wanting to die. But she had no idea how to broach the topic with someone else, so she hastily changed the subject. 'Tell me something about you,' she suggested softly, her voice nothing more than a whisper.

Rubbing at her watering eyes with a fist, Clarke sniffed to clear the last of the emotion from her throat. 'What?'

'Just tell me something about you.'

The beginnings of a smile shaped the hard line that Clarke had pressed her lips into to hold back the sob minutes earlier. 'I thought you didn't like small talk,' she said, recalling their first proper conversation.

'This isn't small talk; I'm expecting some deep shit here, Clarke.' Lexa responded, her knitted brows created the illusion that she was being serious.

'Deep shit?' Clarke repeated, one eyebrow raised and an element of mirth in her voice, which was almost indistinguishable from the mockery. 'Okay, I'll tell you my deepest, darkest secret...' she offered, folding her hands over one another in her lap.

Lexa leant forwards, 'This had better be good.'

Clarke began to lean forwards; her hair slipped out from behind her ear, covering half of her face. Lexa's fingers twitched slightly, straining against the steely rationality of her brain and aching to tuck Clarke's hair back behind her ear. Suddenly, Clarke stopped leaning towards Lexa and eyed her warily, her torso swaying slightly. 'You have to promise not to tell anyone.'

Scoffing, Lexa waved a hand at the perpetual emptiness of their cell. 'Who am I going to tell, Clarke?'

Clarke nodded her head, the notion of a smile toying with the smirk on her lips. 'Fair enough. Okay, here goes.' Lexa's eyes grew wide with anticipation as Clarke diminished the distance between them until their noses almost touched and they breathed the same air. Cupping her hands around Lexa's ear, the tips of which were stained pink with the shadow of a blush, Clarke lowered her voice to a raspy whisper.

'I killed Mufasa.'

Upon hearing those words – uttered in a poor imitation of Scar's drawing growl – Lexa sat up immediately and glared at Clarke with narrowed eyes. 'Clarke... seriously?'

Laughing, Clarke shook her head. 'Okay, okay.' She relented under Lexa's disapproving glare. 'I didn't kill him, but I did laugh when he died.'

Lexa drew in a sharp breath, her eyes bulging at Clarke's admission. 'Clarke! No, just no. How could you laugh at that? Have you no heart?'

A shrug in response from Clarke seemed only to rile Lexa up further, 'I'm sorry!' She exclaimed – though she really wasn't. 'I just don't really get it. I mean, okay, it's sad and all but... he's a cartoon lion. How sad can that really be? I don't even really like Disney.'

The truth in Clarke's explanation had come right at the start and been diluted with little white lies throughout. Clarke hadn't been lying when she had told Lexa that she didn't really get it. She didn't. But she had lied about why she didn't really get it. In truth,  _The Lion King_ was a film that infuriated Clarke to the point that she hadn't enjoyed watching it since she was five. But it wasn't the film itself that irked her. What made it impossible for Clarke to watch that film was the fact that she  _could_  watch it.

Others saw a tear-jerking animated movie about a society of wild animals; Clarke saw the failings and disproportionate priorities of the human race. It made her so angry that when, ninety-seven years ago, their world had been dying around them – its inhabitants along with it – people had been too busy downloading children's films to the Ark's database to notice the deadly flaw in the oxygen system. She hadn't told Lexa any of this, instead, she lied through her teeth about how she simply didn't find the death of an animated lion reason enough to cry.

Holding a hand to her chest, Lexa gaped at Clarke. 'You, Clarke Griffin, have a heart of stone. Mufasa's death was a tragic and avoidable event which has scarred everyone who watched that film, everyone but you. And  _everyone_ loves Disney.'

'But it wasn't avoidable,' Clarke said, her raised voice perfectly calm and reasonable compared to Lexa's frantic shrieking. 'If Mufasa hadn't died then Simba would never have run away and nothing would have happened in the movie. Imagine how boring that would be.'

A prolonged silence followed after Clarke had finished and Lexa just regarded her with an unreadable expression. Eventually, it was a snort from Lexa that broke the silence, 'Did you seriously just try and apply logic to a Disney movie?' She asked. 'Oh Clarke,' Lexa gave a gentle laugh and shook her head like Clarke was a small child who still had a lot to learn.

Clarke clamped her teeth down on her bottom lip to keep it from protruding in a childish pout. She wasn't entirely sure how Lexa had managed to turn her subtle mockery of  _The Lion King_ around on her, but she wished she hadn't. 'You were the one who said his death was avoidable,' Clarke muttered, her expression disgruntled.

The white fabric of Lexa's shirt shifted over her shoulders as she shrugged, 'It was if you apply Disney logic.'

Running her tongue over her lips nervously, Clarke spoke with a slight quiver in her voice, 'So... if we apply Disney logic then this will make sense?'

Lexa opened her mouth to ask Clarke what she meant but the words didn't have time to fall from her lips before they were trapped on her tongue by Clarke's lips barricading her own. Butterflies erupted in Lexa's stomach and it took her a second to register what was happening. She no longer had to ask about what Clarke meant; 'this' was definitely a good thing.

The kiss was gentle and experimental; Clarke applied just enough pressure with her lips that it could be recognised as a kiss, but it was gentle enough that either could pull away. When Lexa brought her hand up to cup Clarke's cheek gently, it became apparent that pulling away hadn't even crossed her mind. Matching smiles shaped their lips as Clarke shuffled a little closer on her knees.

Those smiles spread into broad grins when they pulled away to catch their breath. 'I told you,' Lexa paused to draw in a slow breath and send another smile Clarke's way, 'Everyone loves Disney.'

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again,   
> to those of you who think this is moving too fast because i'm having their first kiss in only chapter 5. okay, yes, it is quite quick to have them kissing after only about a month of knowing each other, but i only have five months to work with here so if i want to get all my cheesy fluff in they can't really mess around. also, this is only a short story and this will mark the first third of the story anyway -- so technically it's not that fast. and i promise you, they don't move very quickly after this. it takes about three chapter for them to get their shit together after this so it's not like they'll be dropping the 'l' bomb anytime soon. so, please just trust that i kinda, sorta, maybe know exactly what i'm doing here.   
> anyway, i shall cease with my rambling.  
> i hope you enjoyed this chapter :)


	6. artist's hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello,   
> i hath returned. all of this is prewritten and i was kinda catching up with myself so i went on the shortest hiatus known to man to catch up on some writing. and now (not to quote Octavia but...) i'm back bitches!
> 
> anyway, i hope you enjoy this chapter :)

It wasn't as awkward as Clarke feared it would be after the kiss. Actually, it was pretty much the opposite; the fact that they hadn't talked about it since probably played a part in that. The three days which had followed the kiss were exactly same as the three before the kiss, and the three before that, and the three before that. They weren't pretending it hadn't happened, oh no, they just weren't acting upon it. But their not acting on it hadn't created the awkward atmosphere that Clarke had been worried would hang in the air like a thick, stifling fog.

When Clarke glanced up from her position on the floor, with her legs folded beneath her and one hand splayed out on her lap, Lexa was pensively chewing her bottom lip and glaring at her book. Just as she was turning the page, Clarke spoke up. 'Hey, Lexa?' She asked, an element of quiet pleading in her voice.

The brunette gave a soft sigh and lowered her book to look at Clarke. 'Yeah?'

'Could you come over and help me for a second?'

The next sigh, which was significantly louder, came hand-in-hand with a smile – which Lexa had clearly plastered onto her face to reassure Clarke that she wasn't really annoyed. 'What do you need help with?'

'This might sound weird... but I need you to smudge this for me.' Shuffling backwards on her knees, Clarke showed Lexa the drawing at her feet. There was already some smudging where the large squares of white chalk and black charcoal had met, but other than that it was just block colour – or lack thereof.

Lexa laughed softly, 'Yeah, that is weird. Why can't you do it?'

A tiny smile developed on Clarke's face and she held her hands up, waving them at Lexa. 'Artist's hands; I don't want to get them dirty.'

This made no sense to Lexa; Clarke's fingertips were already stained with patchy black blotches where she had grasped the charcoal. Why the rest of her hands couldn't follow suit was beyond her. Nevertheless, she caved and got to her feet, discarding her book on the flimsy pillow. 'You artists,' she huffed as she sat next to Clarke, 'Always getting others to do your dirty work.' Lexa couldn't help but allow a proud smile onto her face when Clarke laughed. 'Right,' she began, rolling her sleeves up to her elbows, 'Where do you want me to smudge?'

Grasping Lexa's hand in her own, Clarke guided her to the hazy grey area between the chalk and the charcoal. 'Everywhere, but start here.'

A gentle chuckle grew in the base of Lexa's throat and spilt from her lips briefly before she swallowed it. 'And you really couldn't do this yourself?' She asked as she pressed the heel of her palm to the floor and began to smudge as instructed.

Wiggling her fingers in front of Lexa's face dramatically, Clarke forced false sincerity into her voice. 'I told you, artist's hands.'

'Sure,' Lexa drawled; she continued to soil her hands regardless. 'What is this anyway?'

'I don't really know; I just like this shade of grey.'

Lexa's hand froze and she slowly turned her head to glare at Clarke. 'You mean to tell me that you have me on my hands and knees, doing your dirty work, and you have no clue why?' There was no real accusation in her voice; in fact, Lexa was struggling to disguise mirth with mock anger.

Clarke bit her lip and avoided Lexa's gaze in an attempt to look ashamed –she was really only biting her lip to contain the smile. 'Sorry?' She offered unconvincingly; she wasn't exactly selling the act with the uncertain tone and crooked shrug.

Lexa glowered some more before turning back to her assigned task with a disdainful expression.

When Lexa finally finished some time had passed, enough time for Clarke to have become bored enough to start another drawing on the wall – it was developing quickly and had begun to take the shape of a large, lumbering lion.

'I'm done!' Lexa sat up too quickly and immediately regretted it; she had been hunched over for so long that the sudden change in posture caused a dull pain to spike in the base of her spine. Wincing, she massaged her back until the pain slowly ebbed away.

Clarke dropped from her tiptoes onto the balls of her feet, 'Took you long enough.' She muttered jokingly as she sank to the floor beside Lexa. Then, she completely contradicted her previous statement and gently jostled Lexa's shoulder. 'Thank you,' she said earnestly.

'No,' Lexa's mouth stretched wide to accommodate a lingering yawn, 'Problem.'

Clarke felt a sudden pang of guilt as she finally noticed quite how tired Lexa was. If the slightly slurred speech wasn't enough of a clue then the dark circles under Lexa's eyes definitely should have been. 'You should get some sleep,' she said softly, empathy bleeding from her voice.

Lexa shook off another yawn, blinking away the sudden onslaught of weariness. When her eyes drooped she rubbed at them fiercely with the heel of her palm. 'I'm fine.'

Whatever Clarke had been going to say in response melted on her tongue when Lexa pulled her hands away from her eyes and rested them in her lap. In her exhausted delirium, she had unfortunately forgotten about the powdery mess on her hands. Her face was now decorated with a dark, fierce-looking mask of chalk and charcoal. It almost looked as if Lexa was ready to march into war. The entire region around her eyes was coated in shadowy powder, there were even streaks running down her cheeks where she had dragged her fingers along them in an attempt to bring some life to her gaunt, weary face.

Despite all of that, the words that came out of Clarke's mouth next were nothing to do with war paint or looking fierce. No, Clarke went with something much more bizarre.

'You look like a racoon.'

Lexa froze mid-yawn, her mouth agape and her eyes narrowed in a squint. Closing her mouth, she took a few seconds to collect her thoughts before responding. 'I'm sorry... What?'

'You look like a racoon.'

Unaware of the mess that she had transferred from her hands to her face, Lexa continued to gape at Clarke, her mouth slowly opening and closing like a bewildered goldfish. 'Clarke... What are you talking about?'

It was then that the penny dropped, 'Oh!' Clarke nodded at Lexa's lap – where her hands lay limply, 'Lexa, look at your hands.'

Glancing down warily, Lexa raised a slanted eyebrow at Clarke. Her bemused expression soon turned to one of mild panic and extreme annoyance. Habitually, Lexa's hands flew to her face – though that was what had caused the mess in the first place – and her eyes grew wide. 'Shit,' she cursed beneath her breath.

Clarke couldn't help but laugh as she wrapped her fingers around Lexa's wrists and pulled her hands away from her face. 'Lexa, stop.' A laugh bubbled from her lips and she struggled to suppress the following giggles, 'You're just making it worst. Besides, I think it looks cute.'

At that statement, Lexa froze and gawked at Clarke. 'Cute? _Cute?_ Clarke, how is this cute? I don't want to look cute!'

'Okay!' Clarke exclaimed, 'I never said it was a bad thing.' She said, huffing as she got to her feet and grabbed a glass of water off one of the trays from earlier. 'Here,' she pushed it into Lexa's hand, 'Use this to wash it off.'

Clarke lowered herself to the floor as Lexa muttered a gruff thanks and watched on, with a disgruntled expression, while Lexa dipped the edge of her sleeve into the water and began washing her face. She really did think it looked cute and she was faintly annoyed that Lexa was washing it off. Discoloured water seeped into Lexa's sleeve and when she placed the glass back on the floor – the clinking of glass gently hitting tiles echoing off the walls – the hem of her sleeve was stained a watery grey shade and her face was once again clean. But, with the mask of chalk and charcoal gone, the black rings beneath her eyes were more prominent and it was clear that she was exhausted.

'Lexa,' Clarke began as another yawn momentarily overwhelmed Lexa, 'I think you should get some rest.' Much to Clarke's surprise, Lexa didn't protest as she gently hauled her to her feet. The brunette slumped against her side and walked with dragging feet when Clarke snaked an arm around her waist for support. The thin sheet on the pallet didn't cushion the rock hard surface as Clarke lowered Lexa onto it.

'Thanks,' Lexa mumbled as she rolled over and tangled herself in the sheets.

A small smile shaped Clarke's lips as she walked back to her drawing. For someone who didn't want to look cute, Lexa ended up doing it a lot.

'Hey, Clarke?'

Turning around, Clarke raised an expectant eyebrow at Lexa. Once again, the brunette – who seemed strongly against looking cute – looked adorable. She was pushing her loosely braided hair behind her ears with one hand and the other was held high in the air, beckoning Clarke over with wiggling fingers.

'C'mere.'

Biting back a smile, Clarke walked back over and stood towering over Lexa. 'What, Lexa?'

Clarke shouldn't have been surprised by what she received in response, but she was. Instead of delivering an answer neatly wrapped in words, Lexa propped herself up on one elbow, gripped the front of Clarke's shirt and gently pulled the blonde towards her until their lips met. It was soft but, unlike the one from three nights ago, it was immediately recognisable as a kiss. Clarke's lips remained slightly parted – a slightly less obvious take on a dropped jaw – as Lexa pulled away and buried her head in the pillow, yawning as she went.

'What was that for?' Clarke asked quietly, the question escaping in a suppressed, soft gasp of surprise.

A tiny, noncommittal grunt escaped came from Lexa; it was muffled by the pillow – which she had hidden her face in. When she shrugged the pillow shifted beneath her head and she had to lift her head for a second to get comfortable again. She yawned once more – it really was an adorable sight, and it made Clarke wonder what Lexa could possibly have done to be placed in the Skybox – before answering.

'It was on my bucket list.'


	7. the emotions and caring thing

Lexa was surprised when she woke that morning, biting back tears with a name stinging her lips like salt in a wound.

_Costia._

It didn't make sense for them to come back now. The memories. The haunting dreams. The fleeting moments that left Lexa with tears pricking at the back of her vision and a familiar scream writhing behind clenched teeth. It had been nine months since Costia, and Lexa had made peace with what had happened. At least she thought she had. But last night's dream had brought forth memories that she had long since buried beneath the foundations of the wall she had built around herself. And now the wall was crumbling around her; suppressed emotions were becoming harder to hide behind a stony façade and tears were slipping through the cracks. To avoid unwanted questions from Clarke, she hid behind her book, holding it so high up and so close to her face that her arms began to ache and her breath made the page damp.

She hadn't understood at first – why would Costia's memory rear its ugly head now of all times? But her distraught bewilderment had only lasted until her gaze, swimming with unshed tears, wandered over to Clarke. Then she understood. It was her. The blonde sprawled out messily on the tiny metal slate, covered by a sheet that rose and fell with her steady breathing, with hair that would have shone like a second sun if the light was any brighter. She was the reason. Costia had returned to her that night because Clarke had the ability to make Lexa feel the way she had with Costia. Costia had come back as a warning. Because Lexa was falling again, and the last time she had fallen there was no one there to catch her, nothing there to cushion her as she crashed back down from cloud nine into reality.

It hadn't really been Costia last night, dancing behind Lexa's eyelids and taunting her with a memory; it was just one of many forms her subconscious took when it wanted to scare her away from something that had the possibility of gathering her broken pieces off the ground and sticking them back together, but equally had ample opportunity to shatter her again. Lexa couldn't help but want to ignore her subconscious, ignore the warning that had come in the form of the one who had shattered her in the first place. In a strange way, knowing that her death was coming made it easier. It wasn't only a promise of her death; it was also a promise that she wouldn't lose Clarke, Clarke would lose her. Lexa didn't want to jump to conclusions, but Clarke had made it pretty clear that she cared for her.

After Costia, after her imprisonment, Lexa had vowed that she wouldn't let anyone younger than her grow fond of her. In fact, before she had been transferred to solitary, she had barely talked to anyone. It had come as a sort of blessing when they moved her – however, it hadn't been entirely unprovoked. It had taken a good, sharp kick to a guard's midriff to get her into solitary and it had definitely been worth it, even when they lashed her with one of their electric weapons. She was ready to die then, after she had taken her first breath in that room, with the air cold, crisp and empty of the boisterous shouts of the other teenage prisoners. She hadn't wanted to wait anymore, ten months seemed like an eternity when she had been ready to die then and there. But when – five months later, when she had long since tired of the unpalatable prison food and ill-tempered guards – a familiar calloused hand roughly shoved a wide-eyed blonde through her door, Lexa didn't want to die anymore.

So now she was counting down the days, pretending she didn't care, like each one was just a mark on a tally and not a representation of her swiftly diminishing time on the Ark. Time she was grateful to get to spend with Clarke.

∞

Clarke wasn't sure what the emotion – which had lodged itself in her throat and was boiling in the pit of her stomach – was, but she knew it wasn't positive. It was such a strange mix that she couldn't quite pick out one individual emotion. She liked to think that there was a smidgen of irritation mixed in there, it would only make sense, but she couldn't be sure. All she knew was that she wanted the boiling in her stomach gone so she could enjoy food again, and she wanted the lump in her throat gone so she could breathe comfortably.

Sure, it had only been a day, but Lexa still hadn't brought up the kiss and the way she was hiding her face with a book suggested that she didn't want Clarke to bring it up either. There was no excuse for evasiveness now; it was clear that the attraction was mutual and Lexa had even been the one to initiate the second kiss. Despite that, she continued to discreetly ignore Clarke by going back to her old ways of living vicariously through book characters. It was little things like that which had Clarke's stomach tied in knots. The two of them would normally eat breakfast together when it appeared through the hatch at the bottom of the door, but that morning had been the exception to prove that rule. The only words exchanged between Clarke and Lexa that morning had been a hastily muttered 'good morning' when their eyes met for a brief second whilst retrieving their trays. Clarke had been eager to build on those few words but any fleeting opportunity for conversation swiftly fled, following Lexa as she ducked back into the corner and picked up her book.

∞

The concept of conversation become considerably less attractive as the day continued in total, mind-numbing, painfully endured silence. Even Clarke – who had been disgruntled that morning when Lexa barely even greeted her – was slightly less keen on the idea than she had been. And, where Clarke was still debating whether or not she wanted to engage in conversation, Lexa found the mere thought of it terrifying. Though the tears and pursed lips, quivering from exhaustion after holding in sobs for hours on end, from earlier were gone, Lexa still wasn't sure if she could talk with anything but a shaking voice. She didn't want Clarke to see her like that. Because that wasn't her, not anymore. That Lexa – with the watering eyes, trembling hands and fragile body wracked with sobs – would never be her again.

Now she was stronger. Independent. Stoic. Unfeeling. Now she could easily craft a believable smile when no real emotion was there to back it up. Now she could paint an emotionless mask onto her face when really there should have been tears staining her cheeks and a tremble in her voice. That was Lexa now. And that was the Lexa Clarke would see, not the weak, cowering Lexa who had somehow crawled up from the abyss and was now shielding herself with something as flimsy as a book. It didn't matter that a ghost of a memory had reduced her to nothing again... it didn't matter.

∞

It wasn't until Clarke realised that she was comfortable in the silence that had settled around them, that she decided to do something about it. She didn't want to be comfortable in that silence, she had decided. No, she would coax Lexa out from behind her book and force her into a conversation if that's what it took.

'Lexa? This is stupid now, please stop hiding behind your book.' Okay, so that hadn't been the best start; it had definitely been more pleading than Clarke had intended. All her first attempt earned her was a quick glimpse of those brilliant green eyes over some four hundred pages. Sighing, Clarke hardened her tone and tried again. 'Fuck's sake, Lexa.' The sharp, clipped edge to her tone had clearly caught Lexa's attention, and the brunette had lowered her book slightly to peer up at her. 'Put the book down and talk to me.'

Clarke almost laughed when a sheepish expression worked its way onto Lexa's features; complicit wasn't something that looked particularly good on her either. As Lexa shuffled over, Clarke regretted being so curt with her. Lexa's shoulders – usually held gracefully high, making everyone else feel inferior – were slumped and her eyes – normally shining with intelligent superiority – had a dull, lacklustre look about them. It was only as Lexa lowered herself onto the bed beside Clarke, that she realised her sudden slump was probably not entirely down to her.

'What, Clarke?' Lexa's voice, when she spoke, was tired and husky from mild disuse.

'I don't know, I'm sorry.' Clarke muttered softly, taken aback by lost look in Lexa's eyes. 'I just wanted to talk.'

'About what?'

I took Clarke a moment to form her answer to that; they both knew exactly what she wanted to talk about, but how she phrased it would probably shape the rest of the conversation so she had to choose her words carefully. 'I... uh...' she paused, taking another couple of seconds to reconsider before starting again. 'Where is this going, Lexa? This thing. This... us.' Lexa opened her mouth, ready to get a word in now that Clarke had stopped talking. But the blonde wasn't quite done yet. 'Because two kisses had me thinking that we didn't really need to have this conversation, but then you barely even said hello this morning and I... I don't know anymore.'

A smile lapsed over Lexa's lips for a second, only made genuine by the sadness in it. 'I'm a bit out of practice with the whole emotions and caring thing.' Lexa could have been yelling at Clarke for how quiet her next words were in comparison, 'It scares me.'

'What scares you?' Clarke asked softly, peering up at her with a solemn sincerity in her eyes. 'Me or the whole emotions and caring thing?

Lexa was surprised to find herself leaning in towards Clarke, the edges of her lips toying with the notion of a smile. 'You don't scare me, Clarke. It's just that I've been here before; I did the whole emotions and caring thing. And I was good at it, _we_ were good at it. Me and her. But I haven't really done it since then, and I'm scared that I'll mess it up.'

'Well, if you're willing to try again, I'll pull my weight. Anyway,' she shrugged, the left side of her mouth quirking upwards into something that was neither a smile nor a smirk but was something in between. 'Practice makes perfect.'

There was barely enough space between them to breath now, but Lexa wasn't scared. Because it was Clarke. Clarke whom she had only known for about two months. Clarke who didn't care why she was in the Skybox. Clarke who had made the first move because Lexa didn't know how to. Clarke who made sure that Lexa knew she would wait for her, she would help her without pushing her. Clarke.

Suddenly Lexa couldn't wait. She knew she should probably have slipped in a memorable and meaningful line after Clarke's 'practice makes perfect' comment. It would be like one of those old Earth movies with the rain and the long-winded proclamations of everlasting love and the eventual kissing. But Lexa was slowly easing herself back into the whole emotions and caring thing, and a moving speech was probably more than she could handle at this point. So she skipped that part; she didn't say anything in response to Clarke's statement, she just raised her hand to cup Clarke's cheek and guide the blonde until their lips met.

Lexa left a promise on Clarke's lips as she pulled away from the lingering kiss. She promised she would try, she promised that she wouldn't shy away from her feelings again. And, for Clarke, that unspoken promise was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hola,  
> i really hope you enjoyed this chapter! :) 
> 
> i told you it would take a while for them to get their shit together, mostly because lexa is lexa and she's a poor little angsty mess. but they're officially a thing now!
> 
> anyway, i have to go on hiatus again. (i'm not sure that last time was technically a hiatus because i wasn't gone long enough for anyone to notice i was gone lol) but yeah, i have a big test coming up in about a month and i'm taking a short break so that i have no excuse for my procrastination. 
> 
> try not to miss me too much ;) 
> 
> just kidding, i mean, try not to forget i exist. and by me i mean my story. 
> 
> oh and thank you so much for reading this far! i really hope you're enjoying it :)


	8. not yet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand...   
>  i'm back!  
> yes, hello again. i've decided to screw well-meaning hiatuses and just post anyway. i'll fail the test regardless of how much i revise and i was writing throughout anyway so i really don't see why i shouldn't post as well.   
> anyway, i'm offcially shook after episode10. yes, i only just saw episode 10. i'm really far behind because everything is aired so late where i am. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy this long overdue chapter! :)

After the incident with the chalk and charcoal – which had led to a rather unfortunate nickname from Clarke, thankfully she didn't use it much – the two girls had taken to loosely following a routine to avoid either of them ever being that tired again. It had taken them a while to figure out how to do this; there was no way to tell the time in their cell so they had no way of knowing whether it was time to wake up or time to sleep. Before they came up with their final solution – which was so incredibly simple that they both felt a little stupid for not realising sooner – they had tossed around several absurd possibilities.

Even Lexa contributed with her fair share of utter nonsense.

'Well, I can read five pages in a minute. So, if we count how many pages I read, then we will know how much time has passed. I can be our clock!'

That particular idea had been disregarded when Clarke's immediate response had been to scoff, before realising that Lexa had been being serious.

But, for every ridiculous idea Lexa came up with, Clarke had two to counter it.

There was the one about potato clocks.

'You know, when I was younger we had a science lesson about potato clocks. I'm sure I could make a potato clock out of that weird mushy shit they give us at lunch... it might be mashed potato. And I'm sure it would work the same way.'

And then there was the one that was so utterly absurd that it defied description.

'I could draw a clock, maybe even one of those huge grandfather clocks! And then we could imagine that it was going round and round, that might give us a vague idea of the time.'

It was after this suggestion – which they both knew would never work, and that it was just Clarke grasping at straws – that they decided they were well and truly stuck. A silence engulfed them as they sat, side by side, chewing pensively at their bottom lips and glaring at the wall with furrowed brows. That was when it hit Lexa, and it wasn't because the silence had finally allowed them to think. It was because the silence wasn't really silence at all; the persistent ticking emanating from Clarke's wrist stood between them and complete quiet.

Lexa furrowed her brows even further, trying to work through the infuriating sound whilst simultaneously trying to figure out what it was so she could get it to stop. When she realised that there was only one thing that it could be, she sharply straightened up from her slumped position. 'That's it!' She yelled, turning to face Clarke with a large smile that ebbed away when she realised how stupid they had been. Her next words weren't a joyful exclamation, but a forced groan. 'Clarke, we are so stupid.'

'What?'

Grasping Clarke's wrist, Lexa held it up with an unamused expression spread across her features. 'You're wearing a fucking watch, Clarke.'

∞

So they settled into a routine; it wasn't set in stone but it helped. Having a routine simply provided a loose outline of their day; Lexa made sure to make each day different, she didn't want them merging together and slipping through her fingers like sand. It worked well – they would wake up just in time for breakfast, busy themselves with some activity or another, and then sleep. The sleeping part provided the only issue – there was only one bed. Clarke was perfectly happy for them to share; she had tried persuading Lexa on a number of occasions. But, though Lexa had made a promise an entire month ago to get better at the whole emotions and caring thing, she wasn't quite ready for that yet.

'Please, Lexa. We don't even have to share, you can have it one night and I'll have it the next. Just,  _please_ , stop sleeping on the floor.' Clarke pleaded when she caught Lexa massaging her neck with a grimace one morning.

Wincing as pain spiked in her neck when she shook her head, Lexa responded the same way she had every other time Clarke had pleaded with her. 'No, Clarke. I'm fine; I would fall asleep reading on the floor all the time before you arrived. It’s fine, I don't mind.'

With a few steps, Clarke found herself staring directly into Lexa's eyes, golden flecks dancing about like fireflies in a forest of green. She brought her hands up to cup Lexa's cheeks, turning her face from side to side as if she were examining a patient – which, in a way, she was. 'Your neck hurts, doesn't it?' She asked softly, tilting Lexa's head in her palms in an attempt to get the brunette to meet her concerned gaze.

The comforting warmth of Clarke's palms cradling her cheeks made Lexa want to tell her the truth, made her want to dip her head into a shallow nod and allow the wince to contort her lips for a second. But she didn't.

'Honestly, Clarke, I'm fine.'

It was a pitiful excuse, it wasn't even really an excuse, but Clarke knew that there was nothing she could say to sway Lexa. Dropping her hands from Lexa's face and letting them swing by her sides, Clarke breathed out a gentle sigh. 'Okay,' Lexa's facial expression went slack as the apprehensive grimace faded. ' _But_ ,' Clarke saw Lexa visibly tense at the single slow, drawn out word. 'If it's fine for you to sleep on the floor, then it's fine for me too. There's more than enough space for the two of us, so I'll be joining you tonight.'

'No, Clarke. Don't do that,' Lexa said, her tone hardening. 'Don't threaten to cause your own discomfort just to get rid of mine, okay? I'm fine on the floor and I'm not ready to share a bed with you yet. I made you a promise, Clarke. And I will make good on that promise, just not yet.'

'Lexa...'

There was an obvious element of pleading in Clarke's voice, but Lexa stood by what she had said. She just wasn't ready yet. She was nearly there, so nearly ready. But not yet. 'Clarke, please don't push this. I promise,' she painted a small smile on her lips as she brushed a stray strand of Clarke's golden hair behind her ear, 'It's getting easier – the whole emotions and caring thing.'

Leaning her cheek into Lexa's palm, Clarke offered her a weak smile. 'Sharing is caring...'

'Not yet it isn't.'

∞

When night – or what had been called night on Earth – finally arrived, Clarke found herself reluctantly clambering into bed with Lexa curling up on the floor below her. Her chest deflated when Lexa rolled over onto her side, intentionally facing away from Clarke. The dark, occasionally braided hair flowing from Lexa's scalp was the closest thing she had to a pillow as she pulled it around her neck like a scarf. Once again, the familiar feeling of guilt began bubbling in Clarke's chest and rising into her throat, stifling her for a moment before she coughed sharply to dislodge it.

When Lexa didn't even raise her head at the noise, Clarke decided that it wasn't worth losing sleep over worrying about Lexa. Pulling the thin sheet over her legs, she sank back against the pillow and closed her eyes. Unfortunately, the lights in their cell were never turned off and would hum incessantly throughout day and night. But, that wasn't the only issue. The guards wouldn't even dim the lights for them to sleep, and the harsh, unforgiving lights bore down on them constantly. Clarke shifted to shield her eyes from the light which was tinted pink as it filtered through the thin skin of her eyelids.

Normally, Clarke was able to find a way to block out the light after only a short time of adjusting. But that night it was proving to be particularly difficult... impossible, even. Eventually, she gave in and sat up, pushing the golden curtain of hair out of her eyes. Slipping off of the bed with the sheet coiled around her waist and tangled in her legs, Clarke watched Lexa for a second to see if she was also awake. She was still facing away from Clarke so it was harder to tell, but the slow, rhythmic rising and falling of her shoulders wasn't promising.

'Lexa?' Clarke whispered, breaking the silence of the night – which should have been cloaked in darkness. The floor was cold against her bare feet as she silently shuffled forwards, dragging the sheet with her as she went. 'Hey, Lexa. You awake?' The gentle whisper was more of a hiss now; Clarke felt strange having to be so quiet when it was still bright. When Lexa still didn't respond, Clarke went so far as to prod her shoulder gently with her toe. This produced a small groan from Lexa as she curled in on herself, her body doing its utmost to keep her asleep.

It became clear that Lexa wasn't going to wake up, but when Clarke glanced back over her shoulder at the bed, it looked positively uninviting. In fact, the floor at her feet next to Lexa seemed the better option by far. Dropping to her knees slowly, Clarke lay down on the floor beside Lexa. The fibres of the white sheet – more polystyrene than cotton – squeaked in protest as Clarke yanked it over both of them. And finally, curled up on the floor and burying her face into Lexa's shoulder, Clarke was met with an overwhelming blackness that eventually morphed into a peaceful slumber.

∞

A pair of unreadable green eyes met Clarke the next morning – peering down at her and seemingly unblinking. She would have feared that gaze, and the unspoken words behind it, if not for the strong, unmoving arms snaked around her waist.

'Good morning,' the voice accompanying the eyes muttered, husky from sleep residue.

Deep colour flushed Clarke's cheeks and she hid her face in Lexa's neck. 'Hi,' she mumbled, refusing to look up and meet Lexa's gaze.

A smile shaped Lexa's lips; she allowed it to stay there, simply because Clarke couldn't see it. 'Fancy seeing you here,' she said, peeling herself away from Clarke so that the blonde would have to look at her.

'Uh, yeah...' Clarke unwound her legs from Lexa's – during the night the two had become hopelessly tangled in each other, almost like a used ball of yarn – and shuffled backwards to give her more space. 'I'm sorry; I don't know what I was thinking.'

When Lexa didn't respond immediately – and just gazed down at her with words sitting on her tongue, ready to spill from her lips – Clarke instantly jumped to conclusions and hurried to give Lexa more space. Shaking her head, Lexa showed Clarke an encouraging smile and pulled her closer, arms tightening around Clarke's waist with a grip of iron. 'No, Clarke, I don't mind.'

'Really?' Hopeful. Clarke's tone was definitely hopeful – pleading, even.

A pleasant, happy warmth bloomed in Lexa's stomach like an ignited flame when a simple not of her head caused a smile to erupt on Clarke's face. Suddenly, lying there with Clarke wrapped in her arms, Lexa had forgotten why she was so against sharing a bed with her in the first place.  It just felt right.

∞

Later that day, much later, Clarke was pressing herself against the wall to make space for Lexa on the bed. A soft sigh of contentment tickled her ear as Lexa rested her chin on her shoulder, pushing Clarke's hair out of the way with forceful, huffing breaths. 'Goodnight, Clarke,' she mumbled.

'Hey, Lexa?' Clarke struggled to find enough space to roll onto her side now that there were two of them in the narrow bed and not one.

'Hmm?' A single grunted syllable was all she received in response from Lexa – who had only bothered opening one eye to look at Clarke.

A playful, jesting smile danced in the corners of Clarke's lips – only half from amusement at Lexa's incoherent state. 'So, now that we're past the sharing a bed stage...' Clarke paused, waiting for Lexa to open her other eye before continuing. 'What would you think about moving in together?'

This earned a rare genuine smile from Lexa. Closing her eyes again, Lexa shook her head and leant her forehead against Clarke's. If they hadn't been so close then Clarke felt sure she would have missed what Lexa said next, for her words were nearly inaudible.

'Not yet.'


	9. uncanny resemblance

Clarke normally wouldn't worry if breakfast didn't appear exactly on time – which she made out to be about eight o'clock, roughly ten minutes' after they woke up – but that morning she didn't even need her watch to tell her it was late; her growling stomach did the job well enough. In fact, it was so late that Lexa – who had got to know hunger so well in her early years of life that she now considered it an old friend – found herself flashing worried looks at the closed door.

It only got stranger when breakfast finally did arrive.

The pair had decided to distract themselves from the constant, gnawing ache at the bottom of their stomachs by throwing themselves into various activities with unnecessary vigour. Lexa was glaring at  _Game of Thrones_ and Clarke was grinding her charcoal stick into the floor when a vaguely familiar creak sounded from the front of the cell. Both of their heads snapped up, neither willing to admit that they desperately hoped that it was the hatch opening to allow the trays to fit through.

It wasn't.

'No, I'll be fine.  _Jesus_ , they're kids. Not animals. I'll be fine.' The curt, snipped tone that slipped through the opened door was quickly followed by a tall blonde woman. She watched the door close behind her before turning to face the pair, a tray held out in each hand as a sort of peace offering.

The community on Alpha Station wasn't as tightly interwoven as some of the other stations – like Farm Station where everyone knew everyone – but everyone at least knew _of_ everyone else. So Clarke was surprised when she didn't recognise the woman – she couldn't even put a name to a face. And she felt sure that if she had ever met or even caught a passing glimpse of her, she would have remembered. The woman had the kind of face that you remembered – with those high cheekbones, angular features, bronze skin and tight lips.

However, Lexa evidently knew her. Wide, staring eyes observed the newcomer without a hint of curiosity; Clarke could have sworn she saw a glimmer of something in Lexa's eyes that definitely didn't belong there.

'Anya?' The strangled gasp escaped Lexa's lips, despite how she had pursed them to hold it in.

A shadow of what looked like a smile ghosted over Anya's lips, but it could have been something else. 'Hi, Lexa.'

Clarke watched the exchange with growing intrigue; Lexa and Anya clearly had history, and Clarke hoped that it was history that she would piece together before Anya left.

Holding out one of the trays, Anya took a shuddering step towards Lexa. 'I'm sorry it's so late; I told them to wait until I could bring it in for you and I got caught up with something.'

There was a slight quiver in Lexa's hand as she reached out to take the tray wordlessly. Clarke tore her gaze away from the two and pretended to focus on her drawing, knowing that Anya would turn around to give her a tray next.

'It's Clarke, right?'

Sure enough, she found herself being addressed by the unfamiliar voice. She wasn't sure that she liked the way her name sounded coming from Anya's lips; it almost sounded like it had been choked out after getting stuck on her tongue. But, given the way that Anya had blindly staggered towards Lexa, Clarke was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume that her mind was just elsewhere.

Taking the tray from Anya's hands, which Clarke noticed were covered in the same callouses that created the skin of Lexa's palms, she offered the stranger a small smile. 'Yeah.'

Anya dipped her head into a tight nod, 'Nice to meet you.'

It was obvious that Anya was just counting the seconds before she could escape Clarke's company and return to Lexa, so Clarke swiftly returned the polite sentiment. 'You too.'

Lexa’s heart plummeted towards her stomach and, suddenly, she wasn’t hungry anymore. The painfully familiar brown eyes that turned to face her carried a compassion about them that she had seen in eyes very similar to those, but never in those eyes exactly. Anya’s footsteps, as she walked towards Lexa, weren’t as brash and overconfident as Lexa remembered them being – they were softer, gentler and completely out of character for Anya. Suddenly, Lexa realised that Anya was altering her temperament on her behalf; _it_ couldn’t have changed Anya that much, at least, not in that way. Horrible experiences didn’t break Anya, they hardened her. Lexa resented the fact that Anya thought she needed to be coddled just because she was living under a crippling death sentence. 

‘Stop it,’ Lexa hissed through gritted teeth as Anya sat facing her.

‘Stop what?’

‘Stop _that_ ; stop pretending you care about me now that you don’t have to.’ It only struck Lexa that she might have been a little too harsh after she had spat the words out.

Refusing to drop Lexa’s stony gaze, Anya couldn’t help but feel slightly like a deflated balloon. She had entered their cell with the hopes of reconciling with Lexa before it was too late, but her relationship with the younger brunette had clearly been left for too long and had turned acidic. ‘Lexa—‘

‘Don’t. _Please,_ don’t say my name.’ Lexa had unknowingly raised her voice from the whisper she and Anya had been using because Clarke flashed her a concerned look from the other side of the room. Shaking her head, Lexa lowered her voice before continuing in a broken whisper. ‘You sound just like her.’

Anger was threatening to seep into Anya's voice; did Lexa honestly think that she had been the only one affected by it? Maybe she shouldn't suppress the anger in her voice, maybe she shouldn't fight for Lexa's affections, maybe her voice should be diluted with vexation; she wouldn't sound like her then. In the end, Anya swallowed her indignation and approached Lexa softly.

'Okay, I'm sorry. Lex–' Anya stopped herself before she could get the last syllable of Lexa's name out. Swallowing, she hardened her tone – so that she would sound more like herself and less like her – and observed Lexa carefully for a second before continuing. 'Why wouldn't you see me? I came to talk to you, but they said you wouldn't have any visitors. And I'm pretty much your only friend, so you can have been avoiding anyone else.' Her filter was crumbling now, and she was allowing the buried emotions from the past year slip through.

Suddenly, Lexa felt uneasy; Anya sounded more like herself now, with the curt tone and snarky remarks. But Lexa wasn't sure if she wanted that anymore; she felt a pang in her stomach, something she hadn't felt in a long time. She missed her. She missed Costia. For a second she had heard a small piece of her in Anya, and – despite how it stung to hear and see Costia when she wasn't really there – she was thankful for it.

'I wasn't ready; I'm still not sure that I am.'

Anya was growing tired of Lexa's cryptic answers, and she couldn't be sure if the younger girl was being intentionally evasive or if she just couldn't bear to say the words aloud. 'Ready for what?'

Hanging her head, Lexa glared at the floor. 'I wasn't ready to see you because of the resemblance because I blamed you just because you looked like your younger sister. I guess I thought that if you didn't look so alike, she wouldn't have been caught. You just look so much like her...'

It was true. The resemblance between Anya and Costia had been startling. They almost could have passed for twins; if not for the slight difference in height owed to the seven years between them. They shared the exact same genetics, and it showed in their matching brown eyes, supple frames and dirty blonde hair. However, they had their differences. Where Anya's cheekbones were cut just below her eyes – giving her a regal, authoritative aura – Costia's features had been softer, still stunning, but less defined and more sloping.

Anya pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, 'You don't blame me anymore, do you?' Her voice sounded as if it had been on its way from worried to accusative, but had gotten stuck and was now floating somewhere in between.

One of Lexa's braids slipped from behind her ear as she shook her head softly. 'It wasn't your fault,' she murmured, lips barely moving.

Tentatively reaching out with her hand, Anya tucked the braid back behind Lexa's ear; she disregarded it when Lexa's first response was to flinch away from her touch before relaxing into it. 'I see you still braid your hair; I think you passed that obsession on to Costia.' Anya tried to pass her statement off as absentminded, but they both knew the weight those words carried. Just like they both knew that Costia's hair had been braided when she died.

'Just like she passed her obsession on to me.'

Those words had already reached Anya's ears by the time Lexa realised that she shouldn't have said them. A strange cocktail of emotions bubbled in Lexa's chest, and the resulting expression was something between a wince and a grimace. Anya, however, only felt one emotion circulating in her bloodstream and burning as it flowed in her veins.

'Why did you do it, Lexa? You threw your life away for the sake of one that was already over.' Anya's voice was strangled and a glimmer of whatever emotion she was feeling glossed over her eyes for a second. Both Lexa and Anya were incredibly strong women, both had built walls around themselves. It would only make sense for them to be even stronger in each other's company, but that wasn't the case.

Bowing her head, Lexa refused to meet Anya's imploring gaze. 'I didn't want to get away with it,' her voice was nothing more than a whisper now, 'If they would kill her for something that wasn't even her fault then I wanted them to kill me for something I had actually done. I wanted to see how far they would go; I wanted to see if they would actually kill me for doing something as plain as–' suddenly, Lexa froze. Clarke had been courteously pretending she couldn't hear what had already been said, but she had clearly taken an interest in what Lexa was saying. It wasn't right for Clarke to overhear what Lexa had been going to say; she should find out directly from Lexa. Shrugging her shoulders, Lexa turned back to Anya. 'It worked,' she stated simply.

The silence that followed would probably have lasted forever if several, dull, rhythmic thuds hadn't resonated through the thick metal doors. 'Time's up.'

'I have to go,' Anya murmured softly, pushing herself up from the floor. She extended her arm, offering it to Lexa with an uncharacteristic smile. It was that smile that convinced Lexa to accept her offer, and allow Anya to haul her to her feet once she had gripped her forearm. They stayed like that for a while – grasping forearms and exchanging glances filled with unspoken words of gratitude and appreciation – until, through a mutual decision, they pulled each other in by their forearms and embraced.

'Thank you,' Lexa whispered in Anya's ear, her chin rested on the older woman's shoulder.

Wordlessly, Anya pulled away and moved towards the door. She only had to wait for a second and they were opened; before she disappeared back through them, she turned back to Lexa. 'Goodbye, Lexa.'

It was the finality in Anya's voice that broke her; tears were brimming in her eyes before the door had even fully closed. Salty tears slid over her lashes and dribbled down her cheeks; she would have dropped to her knees if there hadn't been a pair of arms holding her up.

'I've got you,' Clarke soothed in Lexa's ear.

Suddenly, Lexa couldn't put into words how grateful she was that Clarke's arms weren't as bulky as Anya's were. Suddenly, Lexa couldn't put into words how grateful she was that Clarke's arms weren't as long as Anya's were, and she couldn't reach around one shoulder and have the other clasped in her hand. Because, if Clarke's embrace had been anything like Anya's, it wouldn't hold Lexa together and the pressure of Clarke's arms around her would have her crumbling.

It didn't take Lexa long to put herself together again; it didn't take long for her tears to run dry. Soon enough, she wasn't depending on Clarke to physically hold her together. Soon enough, they were sat side by side against a wall with their shoulders pressed together.

'Lexa...' Clarke began, not daring to look at Lexa for fear of what she would see. 'What Anya said about you throwing your life away for the sake of one that was already over...' There was more to be said; when Clarke had started she had been prepared to say more, but she no longer had the energy to finish the job.

Despite Clarke not actually finishing her sentence, Lexa knew exactly what she had been going to ask. 'She was talking about what I did to get locked up.'

This time, Clarke raised her gaze to observe Lexa. If she was going to press the issue then she had to look for any sign that Lexa was reluctant for her to ask about it. She was met with an expressionless face, expressionless eyes and slack shoulders. There was no way of knowing how Lexa felt. Clarke felt like she was teetering on a cliff edge; she could either take a step back – and bite back her curiosity – or she could let herself fall – and run the risk of having the bottom peppered with jagged rocks. Eventually, Clarke decided to ask regardless of what her gut was telling her.

'What did you do to get locked up?'

A somber smirk shaped Lexa's lips, and she slowly lifted her head to meet Clarke's gaze. 'You'll laugh.'

It was the certainty in Lexa's voice that caused Clarke's jaw to drop. She was aghast that Lexa thought so little of her to believe that she'd laugh. 'What?' Clarke spluttered, 'I won't  _laugh._ '

'No, no it's okay.' Lexa hurried to reassure Clarke after realising that she'd offended her. 'I want you to laugh. Otherwise, it's just pitiful and sad that I'm going to lose my life over something so stupid.'

'So you want me to laugh?'

'Yes.'

'Okay...' Clarke still sounded unsure. Turning around to face Lexa, Clarke folded her legs beneath her. 'Tell me, Lexa. What did you do to get locked up?'

'So, they charged me with arson...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, you finally know what lexa got locked up for... kinda. next chapter will be lexa's backstory, leading up to her arrest. i have it all written, and i am happy to post it tomorrow if you'd like. but, if you would rather let the suspense build, i'll just post next friday like normal. 
> 
> i hope you enjoyed :)


	10. forever ago

Lexa had never known what to make of it when the eighth of March rolled around. Costia's birthday was rarely dull; most years something happened to make it memorable – more often than not that was a bad thing.

It was her second birthday, two years of hiding had passed, when she was first forced to hide beneath the floorboards. Lexa had been there then – even when she was just a baby, gurgling softly in her mother's arms and playing with her hair. Lexa was always there. The sharp, hollow sound of knuckles rapping on the door was a sound that still froze her blood in her veins, even after Costia's death. A shout had followed the intrusive knock when no one responded; Lexa herself didn't remember it, but it was a cautionary tale that she had been told time and time again.

'Just a moment!' Isla, Costia's mother, yelled with a quivering voice as she bundled the distressed birthday girl into the hole beneath the floorboards.

The guard's fist narrowly missed Isla's face as she yanked the door open; he had been moving to knock again and surprise at his knuckles not meeting the resistance he had expected was plastered across his angular features. 'I'm sorry, ma'am.' He apologised swiftly, his voice a sneering drawl. Both adults stiffened when he returned his hand to rest atop the high voltage weapon sheathed at his hip, fingers wandering towards the latch as if he would be using it soon.

'Can I help you?' Isla asked, her voice curt and accusatory as the guard, and the two trailing behind him, brushed past her and into the house.

'We are here to conduct an inspection, just a routine procedure.'

Isla set her jaw, dipping her head into a tight nod as she stepped aside for the three men. It shouldn't have come as a surprise; inspections on the Ark were, like the particularly disagreeable guard had mentioned, a routine procedure. They didn't provide a problem for everyone else -- because nobody else had anything to hide -- and they didn't usually provide a problem for Isla, Anya and Costia. A reliable, and well paid, source made sure that Isla always knew when an inspection was planned for her family; Costia was always safely hidden on the other side of Alpha Station before the guards arrived.

But, on that occasion, Isla's perpetually unnamed source had failed to inform her of the planned inspection -- leaving the flustered young mother to muddle through with her heart hammering in her chest. Desperate times, desperate measures.

'And it is just the two of you at this residence, correct?' He demanded, his voice like a whip cracking against Isla's back and making her flinch.  

It took a moment for her to loosen her jaw, tightened by anxiety and fear, enough to respond. 'Yes,' the word was barely more than a whisper -- Isla hated lying.

It was then that Costia's reputation for having awful timing was born. The muffled whimper emanating from beneath the floorboards immediately caught the attention of all three guards. Delphi, Lexa's mother, had to narrow her eyes into a squint to prevent them bulging in horror. Shifting Lexa on her hip, she offered the guards what she hoped was a convincingly apologetic smile. 'I think she's hungry,' she supplied, desperately hoping that they would take the bait and believe that it was Lexa who had made the noise.

'Well, I think we've seen all we need to.' The guard announced, warily eyeing Delphi with an uncertain sneer as he waved his meekly complacent companions over to the door. 'Thank you for your time,' his tone was bored, like the tediousness of it all had caught up to him and he couldn't wait to get out of there and away to something more interesting.

It was difficult for Isla to look polite whilst ushering the guards' from her house with a flimsy smile; her fingers itched to push the young trainee – who was lingering in the doorway as his superior sauntered off down the hall – out with a slam of the door. In the end, she just managed to clip the heel of his foot with the door. The door frame was still trembling from the force of her slamming the door shut and she was already pulling Costia out from beneath the floorboards.

Lexa had pretty much saved Costia's life by just being there that day – it was the first time that she had come to Costia's rescue, but it certainly wouldn't be the last.

∞

It was Costia's fifth birthday, exactly three years later, when Lexa – who at that time was much smarter than any child of four had the right to be – saved her again.

It was just the three of them in the house – Costia, Lexa and Anya – because their mothers were out trying to scavenge something for Costia's birthday. After the first incident three years prior, Costia's trips beneath the floorboards had become more frequent as Isla's source became less and less reliable – Isla soon decided that it was too risky to be smuggling a five-year-old Costia across the Ark in plain view anyway. In fact, they had become frequent enough for Costia to form an opinion of it. And she hated it. She hated the way the air turned stale, she hated the way the light scurried away to get above the floor as the removable floorboard slipped back into place and she hated the way she could  _feel_ when someone was walking above her – like her chest was about to cave in.

It had been quiet that day – the anxiety emanating from Anya's side of the room was palpable, and it hung in the air like a heavy smoke, tendrils licking at their ankles and heating their cheeks. Costia and Lexa sat side by side, hunched over a colouring book with a box of pencils strewn across the table. The conversation passed between the two wasn't in its usual volume; they knew not to yell if Isla and Delphi weren't there. They'd had a surprise inspection only a week earlier so there was very little chance that the guards would appear again before Isla and Delphi were back, but excess noise from the two young girls might provoke them to check again.

Unfortunately, that was exactly what happened.

'Anya, I finished!' Costia announced – her voice no longer a whisper – as she held up her book, pages splayed out in the air.

Glancing nervously at the door, Anya offered her sister a wavering smile. 'That's very pretty,' she said, lowering her own voice in the hope that Costia would do the same.

'Is mine pretty?' Lexa asked, pushing her incomplete image across the table for Anya to see. 

Anxiety bubbled up in Anya's stomach, a queasy feeling that she didn't want to pass on to Costia or Lexa. A tight-lipped smile was the most convincing gesture she could muster. 'They're both pretty,' her words were surprisingly calm given the way her throat was tightening. 

Costia narrowed her eyes, the same warm brown as Anya's, into a critical gaze, 'Which one is your favourite?' There was an amount of cold sincerity in her childish voice that would have made Anya laugh if her mother was there to reassure her.  

'I like them both equally,' Anya informed Costia with a nod; her voice carried a false sincerity so that it was somewhat akin to that of Costia's moments earlier.

The ambiguity about her answer clearly wasn't enough for Costia, 'No, but you  _must_ have a favourite.' She pressed, her tiny hands clasped in front of her as she leant over the table. 

'Is mine your favourite?' Lexa asked, her green eyes peering up at Anya through thick lashes with a sort of pleading curiosity. 

'No, I--' Anya had been about to reiterate her point about not picking favourites, but Costia had swiftly cut her off after the second syllable had left her lips. 

' _See_ ,' Costia leered, a proud grin on her face. 'Mine is the best.'

 It was this yelled declaration that had sent the whole situation spiralling out of control. 

Four curt taps on the door, the sound softened by the pair of gloves the guard was wearing, and a terse yell had Anya's blood frozen in her veins and her heart palpitating at an irregular rhythm.   n a matter of a few seconds, Costia was swept from her seat at the table and planted on the floor as Anya fiddled with the trick floorboard. A clatter echoed off the walls as she tossed the floorboard to the side, eyes wide and hands trembling. 

'No, I don't want to.' Costia mumbled, crossing her arms over her narrow chest and turning away from her sister when she reached out for her hand. 

Anya steadied her quivering had by setting it on Costia's shoulder; empathy marked her features like a brand. 'I know. I know you hate it, but it'll only be for a few moments. It's like an adventure,' she tried weakly; she knew that particular excuse was wearing thin, but she really didn't have any other ideas. 'Like when Alice went down the rabbit hole.' Anya's heartbeats were like tiny feet pattering on a tile floor now; any longer and it would be practically impossible to diffuse the guards scrutinising curiosity.

'Into Wonderland?'

'Yeah,' Anya nodded her head vigorously, taking Costia's hand cautiously. 'Just like Wonderland,' she was lowering Costia into the shallow hole now. Anya skirted around her sister's gaze so that she couldn't see the way her eyes watered as she curled into a ball, arms clutching her legs to her chest and quivering chin resting upon her knees.

Darkness enveloped Costia as the floorboard was slid back into place; she couldn't see an inch in front of her face -- though, that would apply even if there was light enough to see because there was barely an inch of space either side of her. Bones rattled in their sockets with each step Anya took above her, each footfall a pulsing thud in her ears. A grating screech, like nails on a chalkboard, rang in her ears as the door was opened. The heat beneath the floorboards was stifling; each breath was stale like she was just inhaling the air she had just exhaled.

'I heard children's voices.'

Costia immediately gave the voice above her a body, she always did. In this case, she coupled the nasal voice with a stout body – clad in the typical Guardsman jacket – and a pasty face with critical, narrowed eyes.

'There are no records of a child that young living here,' he continued. Costia squeezed her eyes shut in the hope of escaping the voice, but it slipped through the cracks and found her beneath the floor where she was supposed to be safe and untouchable.

Soft, shuffling footfalls sounded above her; her eyes remained tightly closed as she pictured Lexa – who was the only one light enough to create footsteps so quiet – moving into the man's line of sight from the corner.

'I'm watching her for a family friend,' Anya supplied; her voice was one of very few that could actually comfort Costia whilst she was trapped beneath the floor, encompassed by searing metal and oxygen deprived air.

The grunt in response from the man was, thankfully, barely loud enough for Costia to hear. The heat of the metal around her -- heated by the electricity that sustained the Ark -- bit into the pallor of her skin, now a flaming red, as her shirt shuffled up her back. Costia contained the pained yell behind a wince, her face scrunched up in discomfort, and hugged her knees closer to her chest, willing the seconds to tick by faster.

'What's her name? And I'll need to see her identification.' The guard droned on, clearly disinterested now that his curiosity had been quelled by a perfectly mundane situation.

There was a squeaky rustle of fabric; Costia wouldn't have picked up on it if she hadn't been desperately listening out for anything that could distract her from the suffocating combination of darkness and heat.

'Lexa Woods, age four,' Anya recited dutifully; her voice was so sincere and monotonous that Costia could picture her standing to attention with her hands folded behind her back.

A beep, a grunt of approval and a couple of muttered words later, and the disagreeable man was out of the door -- looking in from the other side of the threshold with a bewildered expression as the door slammed behind him. Costia's chest deflated in relief, and she released a breath she hadn't known she was holding, as the floorboard above her shuddered from the force of the door being slammed so fiercely.

The floorboard had barely settled back into its foundations again before it was pulled away and tossed to the side. Light flooded her vision, burning its way into the back of her retinas. An ethereal glow enveloped everything -- giving Anya a hazy halo as she pulled her from beneath the floor -- Costia laid eyes on as her on as they became accustomed to the harsh light again. Relief from the unbearable brightness came in the form of a smothering hug as Anya coiled her arms around Costia's lanky frame.

When her older sister finally pulled away, Costia no longer had to squint to avoid the light being blinding. Bottom lip trembling, eyes watering, and hands clenched into tiny fists by her sides -- Costia finally let the pent up fear, which had been pooling in the pit of her stomach for the last ten minutes, spill from her freely.

A soft sigh escaped Anya's lips; they'd all had more than enough of hiding at that point. 'Come here,' she whispered, pulling Costia into her chest and cradling her there. When her gaze shifted to Lexa -- who stood in the corner, swaying on her feet with green eyes brimming full of unshed tears -- she held her arm out, an unspoken invitation that Lexa readily accepted.

They stayed like that until their mothers got home -- a tangled mess of arms, tears and soothing whispers.

**∞**

Eleven years later and Costia considered discomfort, agitation and malaise to be old friends. Her trips beneath the floor were no longer a rarity and she was grateful to be living on only half of the allocated rations for any one person. It was doubtful that she would fit under the floorboards if there was any more meat on her bones. It also helped that she was incredibly lean; she spent most days working out the restlessness with Lexa. And her arms rippled with understated muscles, hidden beneath hand-me-down sweaters that hung from her supple frame; the clothes fitted so badly that they may as well have tossed a sack over her head and used that instead.

'Happy birthday,' Lexa hissed between her teeth, releasing the words with one of her rhythmic exhales.

Clamping her teeth around her bottom lip, Costia forced a nod in response; anything more elaborate would be too distracting. Her nails pressed four neat crescents into the flesh of her palm as she tucked her fingers into a fist. Sweat plastered wisps of sandy hair, which had escaped from the loose knot she had tied atop her head, to her forehead. A rush of air fiercely tugged the leg of her pants up to her knee as she kicked her leg out.

Almost caught off guard by the sudden movement, Lexa nimbly leapt to the side. 'You won't win again, Cos.'  Her clenched fist knocked the antagonistic smirk from Costia's lips before it had even finished forming. It wasn't a great punch; Lexa was sure her knuckles hurt more than Costia's face did, but it did the trick. Pulling her smarting knuckles back towards her chest, Lexa danced around the mat with footsteps so light that she could very well have been flying.

'Really? I wouldn't claim victory just yet,' Costia announced, her voice breathless and a shadow of a bruise already ghosting over the pallor of her flesh.

Suddenly, Lexa found herself choking on her witty retort as a sharp kick in the stomach left her reeling. The spike of pain slowly faded to a dull, thudding ache, indistinguishable from the other pains that already riddled her body. Lexa could feel sweat gathering in the creases of her palm as she quickly unfurled her fingers -- which were beginning to cramp -- only to clench them into a fist seconds later. After all, a slap wasn't nearly as effective as a punch.

Confusion flashed across her face, with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow, momentarily as her fist met skin before she had expected it to. Chipped nails and calloused fingers gripped her fist, and the glorious smirk that Costia wore looked too big for her face. The muscles in her shoulder screamed with pain as Costia jerked her arm to the left, friction burning her skin like a hot iron. 

Lexa was seconds away from conceding defeat; it was her foot, writhing in pain because her arm was held too tightly in Costia's vice-like grip to move, kicking back into Costia's knee that spared her the use of her arm and her pride. The two eyed one another warily, Costia glowering up at Lexa from her kneeling position on the floor. In the silence that came next, cloaking the room like a humid atmosphere, Lexa could have sworn she could hear Costia grinding her teeth in vexation.    

'Are you getting up then?' Lexa taunted, rolling her aching shoulder in its socket as she waited for Costia to get back to her feet. They always teased each other like that. Both girls had tongues as sharp as the swords they had once tried to obtain -- it was a long story. Mocking and jesting came easier to them with the knowledge that they could both rely on the other to eventually offer their hand to help them if they really couldn't get up.  

'Float...' Costia drank the air in with several gulping breaths as she struggled to her feet on wobbling knees. 'You,' she finished. A reluctant grin came to her lips and she landed a final, playful punch on Lexa's shoulder. 

'Happy birthday,' Lexa responded, almost apologetically, with a light, airy laugh. 

'I said you shouldn't go easy on me just because it's my birthday,' Costia groaned as she massaged her knee with a blistered palm, 'I did  _not_ mean that you should hit harder than usual. Anyway, it wouldn't kill you to pull your punches once in a while.' 

Pulling an old rag, which she preferred to call a 'multi-purpose towel', out from her bag, Lexa scoffed. It was no secret that she liked winning, and they both knew that -- despite the age gap between them, which should have given Costia the advantage -- Lexa was the better fighter of the two. 'No, but it might kill you. If I let you win, your head would probably get so big it would explode.'

'I doubt one victory would affect me that much,' Costia reasoned as she slumped back into a chair; the metal legs squealed for a second as they dragged along the floor, catching on the grooves between tiles.

'Well,' Lexa sank down into a chair beside her, jostling the older girl with her elbow. 'Since you've never won, you really don't have any evidence to back that up.' 

The slanted grimace that Costia's painted onto her, usually easygoing, features whilst pointedly rubbing her sprained knee was cleary just a ploy for pity. Lexa would probably have rushed to apologise and comfort Costia if she hadn't sparred with her before; no doubt Costia's pride was wounded more than anything else. 

'Stop whining,' Lexa lamented as she delved back into her bag, rolling her eyes fondly. 'Here,' sitting up again and leaning back in her chair, Lexa presented her palm with a small gift coiled around her thumb. 'I made this for you.' 

Breath caught in Costia's throat as her fingers, with knuckles rubbed raw from doling out her fair share of punches, reached out and took the gift. 'Thanks, Lex,' she said, the words working their way out around the lopsided grin she inherited from her mother. 

'Does it fit?' Lexa asked, almost anxiously, as Costia slipped the bracelet on. 

The three strands of leather, worn down by age and harsh conditions, slipped around Costia's wrist. It fit perfectly, despite Lexa's evident apprehension. The way it pressed into her skin, not enough to hurt but just enough to make sure she knew it was there, was as sturdy and sure as the ground she walked on. Costia's chest tightened; the bracelet was like a comfortable pair of handcuffs, binding her to the truth. 'It fits perfectly, thank you.' 

'Oh, good. I sort of made it in a rush last night; it took a while to get the leather. I had to trade three day's ration for it, but that's okay. I don't mind. I'm just glad it fits--' 

Costia cut off Lexa's rambling, a by-product of the way her heart fluttered whenever she was around Costia, with a kiss. For months she had been struggling to find the words to tell Lexa how she felt; in that moment she finally realised that actions speak louder than words. There was a second when she thought Lexa was going to pull away; she felt sure that she'd earn a slap for her bold gesture. But no, her childhood friend -- the only friend she'd ever been lucky enough to have -- grinned into the kiss and let it run its course before pulling away. 

'Happy birthday to me,' Costia sang softly with a breathy laugh, borrowing the tune from the old Earth song. 

This earned a laugh from Lexa, who then leant her forehead against Costia's and sang the rest of the verse in a whisper, like the kiss was their little secret.    

Lexa hated keeping secrets, hated the way they shaped who she was until she wouldn't be anything without them. But Costia was the one secret she didn't mind keeping.

∞

Costia's eighteenth birthday was a sombre occasion; the verses of the supposedly celebratory song were sung in a dull monotone, each word filled with dread. The cake substitute was pitiful; a mound of colourless, unpalatable food slumped on the table. A pile of presents sat in the corner, so meagre that if it were any smaller they would need a magnifying glass to see it.

No one wanted to say it, but they could read it in each other's eyes – it couldn't have been more obvious if it had been inked onto their foreheads. They all knew – as they forced verses of the song from dry mouths and presented gifts with trembling fingers – that Costia's eighteenth birthday wasn't really something to be celebrated. It didn't bring responsibility and opened doors, giving way to opportunities, like it did for others; it just meant that the stakes were higher now than they ever had been before. If Costia was discovered now she would be immediately floated. They had cut out the middle man; there would be no stay in the Sky Box now that she was legally and adult.

Hushed thanks were exchanged every time Costia opened one of her gifts – each bundled up in an old pillow case or wrapped in an unused shirt because there was no wrapping paper to be had. Between the opening of each present, the room around them was quieter than death, the occasional rustle of stiff fabric echoing around them in the tangible silence.

'Thanks, Anya,' Costia gushed as she pulled her last present from its crude wrapping. It was a candle, scented with something so strong that Lexa could feel it lingering on Costia's fingers when they became tangled with her own. The ever-expanding collection of candles that Costia maintained had always confused Lexa; it was possibly the most useless thing to own on the Ark. Why they were even manufactured made no sense to her; it wasn't like anyone was allowed to actually burn them. They were just another pointless aesthetic.

'Oh, and there's one more,' Isla announced, pulling something out from behind her back.

No further words were exchanged as Costia tore into the envelope, her face an explosion of curiosity and excitement.

'Are you serious?' She gasped once she had finished reading; a glimmer of something Lexa hadn't seen in years sparked in her eyes.

Costia's fingers tightened around her own as Isla dipped her head into a nod, brown eyes glowing with unshed tears. 'But it's just for tonight, and you have to be back before morning.' Isla instructed; her stern tone was made light and airy by a breezy laugh that spilt from her lips as Costia scrambled to her feet, dragging Lexa with her.

'I love you, mom. I'll see you tomorrow!' Costia's farewell whisper -- she wouldn't risk a yell -- was lost in the creaking hinges of the door as it closed behind them. It was the first time she had passed over that threshold in years. The first taste of freedom that had sweetened her life since she was an infant. 

Lexa's feet barely had time to touch the floor before having to push off again as they flew down the corridors, her fingers going numb in Costia's vice-like grip. 'Costia, what did the letter say?' Getting the words out between laboured breaths was harder than she had expected, and she hoped that Costia had heard her so she wouldn't have to repeat herself.

'Mom says I can stay at your place, just for tonight,' Costia sang, her voice a melody of elation and barely containable excitement. 'Just the two of us,' a fleeting whisper which held a promise that spoke louder than words.

From the moment those five words had slipped, undeterred, from Costia's lips, the two girls were a giggling mess of trembling fingers and flipping stomachs. Lexa led Costia down the hallway, the smile never leaving her face.    

The apartment, barely big enough to house its two occupants, was illuminated by a faint glow at the flick of a switch. There was barely enough time for the door to click back into place before the two girls fell over each other onto the couch, legs tangled and unsteady arms clinging to one another.

Grasping Costia's wrist between her slender fingers, Lexa examined the braided bracelet coiled around her skin. 'Have you taken this off once since I gave it to you?'

'No. Why would I?' Costia replied, twisting her wrist in Lexa's grip so that their palms pressed together and their fingers slotted together.

'I don't know,' Lexa murmured; her voice became increasingly distant as her free hand wandered towards Costia's hair and deftly separated three strands. 'I guess it might just get boring, you know? Wearing the same thing every day for two years.' She continued softly as she freed her other hand from Costia's grasp and started nimbly braiding her hair, fingers ducking beneath one another to create the intricate pattern.

'No less boring than waking up to see the same four walls each day for eighteen years,' the words escaped in a bitter sigh as Costia sank back against the couch.

'Just think,' the whisper shaped Lexa's lips into a small smile as she tilted her head a little to the left, 'Tomorrow, when you wake up, you'll be here with me.'

In that moment, looking forward to the first few hours of independent freedom she had been granted in years, Costia was deliriously happy. But, like all things in life, it could only last so long.

The knock on the door – a sound both girls had grown to fear so much anyone would think it was actually death at their door – came moments later. It shattered their euphoric state and left them scrambling to pick up the pieces. Lexa froze, her hands still tangled in Costia's thick mane of hair. Icy terror struck them like a punch in the stomach, neither daring to breathe.

'Costia,' the word drained from Lexa's lips like the colour had drained from her face. ' _Hide_ ,' she hissed desperately; she could barely manage a stammer her voice was quivering so much.

The second knock, more insistent and demanding that time, resonated in Lexa's stomach like nails on a chalkboard and had her bones rattling in their sockets.

'Open up. We have reason to believe that there is an unidentified person behind this door; just let us in and we'll check your identification.'

'Shit,' Costia gasped as she untangled herself from Lexa and rolled off the couch, hitting the floor with a thud. 'Lexa, where can I hide?'

The plea fell on deaf ears; there was nothing much that Lexa could hear over the ringing in her ears and the increasingly agitated yells from the other side of the door. Costia's nails dug into her skin through her shirt as trembling fingers tried to shake an answer out of her.

The two guards found them like that when they forcefully burst through the door – Lexa's verdant eyes brimming with helpless terror and Costia clinging to her for support as her knees were ready to buckle. Two high voltage weapons, brandished like knives, sparked dread in Lexa's heart as Costia turned around to face them.

'You,' the taller of the two guards barked, waving his weapon perilously close to Costia, 'What's your name?'

It didn't matter that Lexa could only see the back of her head; she could hear Costia debating with herself as if it was spoken aloud. It could save her to lie, to tell the man that she was Anya. Given the striking likeness between the two, it was an entirely believable charade. Costia would just have to grit her teeth and lie, telling them that she had left her identification at home and have Anya wait in another room at home while they checked the validity of her story. But Costia was proud. Lexa had always feared that her pride would be her downfall – it was in that moment that her nightmares became reality.

Recklessly, it wasn't her sister's name that shaped her lips as she held her chin high, but her own. 'Costia Forrest.' Those words stung like sweet poison on her lips; Costia knew, the second they left her mouth, that it had been suicide to speak her own name.

Realisation shaped the guard's hard features, and his eyes glared down at Costia as if she were something deplorable – though the only crime she had ever committed was being born. 'Find out where the Forrests' live,' he muttered at his companion through clenched teeth. When his eyes met Costia's, the piercing cerulean shade burnt like ice. 'How old are you?'

Once again, Lexa could see within Costia the capacity to lie. A lie might spare her an extra year of life, maybe two. But, for the second time in the span of five minutes, Costia allowed pride to control her tongue when it mattered most.

'Eighteen.'

It didn't matter that two hours earlier Costia's truth would have been a lie; Lexa could tell she found satisfaction in the way the guard flinched when she spat her answer at him.

'This is their place, sir,' the younger, and notably shorter, guard informed his superior as he presented his findings like a diligent schoolboy.

'Don't.' The word was strangled as it left Lexa's lips – a single, begging syllable that shattered as it left her lips and fragmented even further on the way to the guard's ears.

Whatever was said in response only sounded like a sadistic snarl to Lexa as the guard dug his blunt fingernails into Costia's arm; angry red marks blotted out the pallor of her pale skin as he wrestled her through the door. Words escaped her, avoiding her tongue like the plague, and she was left to stagger after them – choking on cries of desperation and blinded by tears.

Every time her bare feet collided with the floor was like the ringing of a gunshot in her ears, though each footstep was soundless. The man’s knuckles against the door were the same – a sound that rocked her to the core and turned her blood into ice in her veins. The way frigidity took over her body, rooting her to the spot, made it impossible for her to do anything but clench her fists at her sides.

Isla's face when she opened the door and saw her daughter in the grip of a guardsman only made it worse. The upturned curl at the edge of her lip contorted and the musical laugh on her tongue turned to a stifling sob before the door even had time to bounce back on its hinges.

Costia's hair fell over her face as a broken whimper fled from her lips; she hadn't remembered that once the guard knew her name it would also mean death for her mother.

'Isla Forrest, you are charged with breaking the rule set against having a second child – the penalty for which is death.' The man recited gravely, though Lexa could tell it brought him to pain to utter those words.

Anya had appeared around the corner then, her features shaped by the amused smirk that – no matter how alike they might seem – had always looked wrong on Costia's face. She had been just in time to see them drag her only family away into the dead of night, the corridors suddenly alive with the buzzing of the overhead lights. Suddenly, her legs buckled beneath her – hands searching for her mother's support where she knew it wouldn't be. It only took a few seconds on the icy, tiled floor for her to stumble to her feet.

Lexa was halfway down the hallway by then, following Costia and Isla like she could save them just by being there. Realisation burnt her skin like a hot iron as they turned right when it should have been a left. Left was the skybox – where Lexa had assumed they would be kept until a trial could be held the next day. To the right was the floating chamber – the one place on the Ark that Lexa had hoped never to see again.

No, it wasn't right. There had to be a trial. It was the law. Her heart plummeted downwards; she could feel each beat pulsate in her stomach. Building in the space her heart had occupied mere seconds earlier was a scream – an inconsolable wail of horror. Lexa held it back behind clenched teeth and pursed lips, fingers balled into fists at her sides with nails digging into her palms. She could hear Anya's footsteps behind her; they were laboured and shuddering, each one sending a tremor through the ground. Those footsteps continued even when the guards slowed to a standstill, but they too came to a sudden, yet strangely predictable, stop when Anya found herself stood beside Lexa.

They all knew the penalty for bearing a second child; every one of them, even Lexa, had lived their lives under the weight of that penalty. But none of them had really allowed themselves the time to fully comprehend it – if they had they would be crippled with fear.

The time it took for the door to slide open – air from the chamber diffusing into the air they breathed with a hiss as the pressure was released – gave Lexa time to consider it. The precise wording. The ominous tone with which it was always decreed. The fine print at the bottom of a yellowed page that was really just a trophy because the real thing was stored on computers. The mere thirty words that stated something perfectly reasonable until the theoretical second child became a living, breathing, laughing person.

Suddenly, when it all came into perspective, Lexa was choking on the words she wanted to say. The three words that she had told Costia countless times, but would never stop being true, burnt her tongue and the roof of her mouth like a scalding drink.  _I love you._

She wanted to let those words fill the silence hanging in the dead air like a fog as she elbowed past the guards and pulled Costia into one last hug. Because it would be the last. But she couldn't. It felt like the heaviness in her heart was rooting her to the spot – like a weight that she couldn't lift so she just resigned herself to stand there and suffer in silence.

The words remained unsaid, sizzling on Lexa's tongue like acid, as Costia and her mother were herded into the chamber. Tears trickled down her cheeks, making their melancholy descent undetected. When the cold first ghosted over Lexa's fingers she flinched away from it, pulling her hand away with a jerk. The second time it was more insistent, tugging at her fingers and unfurling them from the fist. Anya's fingers, frigid with cold dread, hugged Lexa's tightly. It took Lexa a moment to realise that behind the grimy glass, Costia and Isla were doing the same.

They were like a weeping mirror of unspoken farewells and furtive, tearful glances that spoke the truths that their tongues would not. Trembling fingers, hopelessly tangled, clutched ever tighter as both parties attempted to draw strength from the other when there was none to be had. Costia's breath steamed up the translucent glass as she pressed her palm up against it; Lexa could tell that she wasn't putting much effort into the weak smile on her lips.

'I love you.'

It was too late when Lexa finally yelled the words that had been burning a hole in her mouth. The guard's thumb had only to tap lightly on the flashing button and the doors opened. A scream from Lexa's lips replaced the one that didn't have time to escape from Costia's. Never once releasing her grip on Anya's hand, Lexa collapsed to the floor and pulled the older girl with her.

It consumed her. What 'it' was she didn't know. But it was unlike anything she had ever felt before; it wasn't misery or sadness or even pain. But, for something that wasn't pain, it hurt like hell. Each time a sob overtook her body, shaking her shoulders violently, was like the strike of a whip against her skin. Each time her lungs heaved, a moment's reprise from the sobs, it was like they were shrivelling up in her chest. Each time her trembling fingers moved to wipe away the tears, only to clear the path for the ones yet to come, it was like the touch burnt her skin. Each time she heard Anya brokenly whisper her sister's name was like taking a blow to the head – but not one strong enough to knock her out. No, that would be too easy.

Nothing would be easy anymore.

∞

Black smoke coiled around the air like a whip, stinging Lexa's eyes and making them prickle with tears when she thought she'd had none left to shed. The potent, sickly-sweet smell of the candle filled the room mere seconds after it had been lit. The hole in the floor was quickly made unbearably hot; the heat from the candle wasn't even that strong, but it was already scorching beneath the floorboard and the candle had just been the straw to break the camels back.

It was a pitiful funeral pyre, with nobody to burn because it had been ripped to shreds by the ferocity of outer space. Lexa's bare feet dangled recklessly close to the naked flame; the sparks licked the surface of her skin teasingly. She was glad that Anya wasn't there to see her self-destruct. For two months all the Anya had done was throw herself into her work; long days and even longer nights proved to be ample distraction for the newly made orphan. But Lexa didn't have that; she was only just seventeen and there was no demanding career with absurdly long hours for her to hide behind.

_It's what Costia would have wanted._

That lie had been hot on Lexa's tongue as the flame billowed from a crackling spark onto the wick. What she was doing was illegal; the flickering light at her feet gulped oxygen down like the Ark's residents drank the diminishing water. They wouldn't let it slide, not after she helped the Forrests' hide Costia for all of her life. But that was the idea.

A pleasant odour, unlike anything Lexa had experienced before, filled the air as a landslide of wax dripped onto the floor, sizzling as heat met heat. It was bittersweet, the way the smell seemed to sing as Lexa inhaled it with a shuddering breath. It didn't seem right that she – who had never seen the point in the unhelpful aesthetic that Costia had swiftly developed an infatuation for – was alive to experience it when Costia had been sent to an early grave among the stars. 

That same smell had clung to her skin like a tightly fitting corset when they dragged her to her feet. She hadn't even noticed them come in. It was difficult to tell how long Lexa had sat there, staring down into the floorboards and wishing that it was Costia looking up at her and not just the unpredictable flickering of one of the candles she had loved so much. The dim light was stomped out swiftly; the soft wax didn't even put up a fight as the sole of a heavy shoe bore down on it.

The air was stale with the sound of silence as Lexa was yanked to her feet; the guard's face, with those eyes the colour of a grey slate, said everything she needed to know.

'I'm sorry,' Lexa mumbled as the door clicked shut behind them, her head hung low with her hair covering half of her face.

The scoff that the guard gave in response was filled with genuine humour, like he could no longer find it within him to be sincere whilst leading a teenager to await her death. 'Well, sorry ain't going to cut it.'

Those words hadn't been meant for him, but his ears were the only ones there to hear them. Lexa didn't have the energy to explain it; she couldn't honestly say that she had the energy for anything anymore.

The lies she had lived her entire life fell apart when the man pulled her away from the council's conference room. The same had been done with Costia and Isla, the promise of a trial to decide their fate had fallen through the second it would actually need to be put in place. It only made sense that the same would be done for her.

The door leading into the Skybox loomed over her as the guard tapped a code into the illuminated blue box to her left. She knew what was waiting for her on the other side: ninety pairs of eyes – give or take a few – all staring up at her, her arrival fuelling their curiosity. And that was exactly what the door revealed as it opened. Ninety pairs of eyes – give or take a few – all staring up at her, all asking the same question. It was only when the door slipped shut behind her, sucking the air from her lungs with a sharp inhale, that someone finally asked the question aloud.

'So,' the wiry girl in the corner yelled, her eyebrow quirked upwards in a sharp line, 'What'd you do to get thrown into this hellhole?'

∞

'You're not laughing,' Lexa mumbled after she had finished, uncomfortable with the way Clarke's wide, staring eyes were now filled with pity.

It took Clarke a minute to be able to respond; not only did she feel like the air had been knocked out of her lungs, but she also had no idea how to broach the topic after what she had just learnt. It took a recount of pretty much every notable experience in Lexa's life for Clarke to realise how little she actually knew about her cellmate. She would never have been able to predict the hardships the girl in front of her had suffered through; nothing about the front Lexa put on suggested anything about her past.

'That's because it wasn't funny,' Clarke whispered, her eyes glassy and brimming with tears. 'I'm so sorry, Lexa,' she choked out, forcing the words out around the lump in her throat.

'Don't be,' the words were not spoken through gritted teeth as they had the right to be, but instead, they flowed freely from lips shaped by a doleful smile. 'It all happened forever ago.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonjour,   
> this chapter is really long (7000+ words) because it's basically just lexa's entire life story. also, because i procrastinate so much it took me about a month to write (i know, i'm absurdly lazy), because it was written across a relatively long period of time there might be a few plot holes or chronological errors. but i hope not because i have read over it several times, but then again i am a crap editor. so feel free to point out any pressing issues :) 
> 
> i hope you enjoy and please leave feedback/improvements wherever you see fit.


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